


"Bah, humbug" (No, that's too strong)

by WriterRose



Series: Steve Harrington Case Studies (As Conducted by the Party) [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (which the kids exploit), Brotherly Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Christmas, Cooking, Explicit Language, Fluff, Gen, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Heart-to-Heart, Lonely Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, Steve Harrington's Gigantic Empty House, steve bonding with the rest of the party as well as dustin yes please and thank you, with some hints of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2020-09-24 04:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20352115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterRose/pseuds/WriterRose
Summary: “Tacos?” Lucas parroted with utter disappointment over having missed such an occasion.“Yep.” Dustin popped. “With freshly chopped steak and everything. Like he cut up a hunk of steak and then chopped it into itty pieces and seared them up.”Lucas audibly swallowed before he sighed, “Ah, man…”Max leaned forward and stuck her head over the center console between the two front seats and lolled her head in the driver’s direction. “Don’t be a Scrooge, Steve. It’s a major cliche.”“I know that you’re new here, kid.” Steve started, as if he were about to begin one of his‘I’m more experienced than you’speeches. “But my whole life is a cliche.”(Christmas has come to Hawkins bringing with it scheming tweens, Secret Santas, and a Scrooge-y Steve. But he’s not the only one who hasn’t been poured a cup of cheer.)[Post-Season 2, pre-Season 3]





	1. The Set-Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to my other fic [**It's the sinking feeling of being alone**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16323749). You don’t need to read that in order to understand this story, but some events of the previous fic are referenced.
> 
> So it's like, nowhere near Christmas but I was excited to get this out. There's a planned 3 chapters to this long-shot. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

_“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart  
But the very next day you gave it away…”_

Steve stopped wondering how he got into these kinds of situations a long time ago. He knew the how. 

The how was because of all the little shits that had been hanging around him since November, because Steve let a bunch of 13 year olds boss him around. The how was because he was a people pleaser at heart, so all the parents just _had_ to love him and use him as a babysitting/chauffeur service. Not that he was getting paid for this, _nooo_. ‘Cause Sweetheart Steve Harrington just _had_ to refuse their money. Like an _idiot._

No, what Steve wanted to know was the why. More specifically; why him?

“_...This year, to save me from tears_  
_I'll give it to someone special…_”

With a maybe too aggressive motion, Steve turned the radio off.

“Hey,” Max began indignantly. “I was listening to that.”

“They’ve been playing that shit since November. I’m sick of it. Shit’s giving me a headache...” Steve grumbled pointedly, which wasn’t necessarily true. He had a headache since he woke up this morning but the little shits didn’t need to know that. So instead, he sniffed, “Besides, you’ve heard one _Wham!_ song, you’ve heard them all.” 

“What’dya got against George Michael?” Lucas accused.

“Nothing.” Steve answered, probably a bit too hastily. Which was true. He had nothing against that guy in particular, but the crap he sang about was much too...lovey-dovey for Steve’s current tastes...

“Mhmm.” Lucas hummed, sounding entirely unconvinced, as if he could somehow hear Steve’s actual thoughts (which was impossible, because as far as Steve knew, there was only _one_ superpowered child taking up residence in Hawkins). Regardless, Lucas was watching Steve with a critical expression through the rearview mirror, which the latter didn’t appreciate one bit. Steve glared back before adjusting said mirror, the scrutinizing teen now out of his line of sight.

“Well, Steve being a buzzkill has presented a useful opportunity for a segway…” Dustin began as he started rifling through his backpack for something.

“It’s my car, dipshit. I get radio contro—_JESUS!_” Steve exclaimed, cutting himself off as his line of sight was suddenly blocked by whatever Dustin had just ceremoniously shoved in his face. He grabbed it from Dustin, the material crinkling as he quickly pulled it out of his view of the road. “I’m driving, dickhead!”

“Yeah, that was kinda a dumb move, genius.” Max agreed, surprisingly coming to Steve’s defense. “He crashes ‘cause of you, I’ll kill you. No way I’m almost dying with you losers a _second_ time. Once was enough.” she added flatly and okay, maybe she wasn’t so much as siding with Steve as she was lumping him in with the dorks, which inarguably stung.

“He’s fine.” Dustin assured. “You know what’s gonna get you killed? Him being petty enough to adjust his mirrors so he can block out his mouthy backseat rider, giving himself a new blind spot in the process...” he rambled a little too testily as he leant as forward in his seat as his seatbelt allowed and readjusted the rearview mirror back to its previous position.

“Yeah, whatever, Henderson. You throwing garbage in my face sure isn’t doing me any favors either, you know?” Steve bit back, throwing the paper back to Dustin.

“Rude.” Dustin merely said as he used the window to smooth out the crinkled up paper. “And this isn’t garbage, it’s important information.”

Steve glanced over to Dustin and the mysterious piece of paper. “What the hell is it?”

“It’s a hypothetical list of upcoming possibilities.” Dustin answered.

“That’s a vague answer.” commented Max as she leant forward and plucked the paper out of Dustin’s hands to study it herself.

“Namely, possible locations!” Dustin furthered before he cleared his throat and began, “As you can see, most of the other possible locations have been crossed out.” he pointed out in a tone that reminded Steve of the one his dad used when rehearsing for upcoming board meetings.

“Mhmm, mhmm.” Max hummed, sounding as if she were playing along.

“I see.” Lucas commented. “Oh, all except one, it would seem.”

_Wait a fucking second._

“Is this a _set-up?_” Steve voiced aloud.

“By Jove, you’re right, Lucas.” Max droned in a poor English accent, completely ignoring Steve, her voice dripping sarcasm. “All other possible locals have been crossed off, _except_ for this one.” she noted as they pulled to a stop under a red light and she shoved the paper back into Steve’s line of sight, pointing at one line of non-scribbled out writing in particular.

He read the line that contained _‘Steve’s’_ before his eyes roved up the list to see _‘Byers’’_ and _‘Hopper’s’_ crossed out before they finally reached the top of the notebook paper page to see the header that read _‘Possible Party Places’_ written atop in Dustin familiar, messy scrawl. Overall, it was a pretty useless list, if you asked Steve, considering there were literally only four things written on it, including the title.

“_What_ party?” Steve blanked before a honk from the apparent car waiting impatiently behind them startled him. Once recovered, he waved the other driver off before he rolled the car under the now green light.

“The First Annual Upside Down Defenders Christmas-slash-Holiday Bash!” Dustin ‘clarified’ in a rush of excited, practical gibberish. “Seeing as how we missed out on last year, what with all the government officials hanging around and El being presumably dead and all.”

“Uhh, I didn’t agree to any party...” Steve stated, filtering out all of the unnecessary information Dustin provided him. 

“Of course not. This is us asking you.” Max said, gesturing between herself and the other passengers of the car.

“Well, consider yourselves answered; no.” Steve announced bluntly, pausing for all of two seconds, for dramatic effect. “The Harrington Household is vacant this holiday season. Sorry, kiddos.” he apologized in a flat tone as he smoothly turned the car down a corner.

“You’re going away?” Dustin frowned, looking as if he were blindsided by Steve’s reveal.

“No?” Steve answered with a sideways glance, brows furrowed in his own bought of confusion.

“But you just said—”

“My parents are?” Steve said before Dustin and Lucas then erupted into noise, startling Steve into a jerk. Needless to say, Steve was getting pretty damn good at not letting any bouts of jumpiness effect his driving.

“Great!” Lucas cheered. “We won’t even have to worry about getting rid of them, then.”

“_Huh?_” Steve blanked again.

“They wanna use your house to throw the party, genius.” Max clarified, apparently over Steve’s lack of ability to follow the conversation. 

“What? No.” Steve said pointedly. “No. No way. No way am I throwing some kinda nerd party at my place for everybody to crash when my parents are gone.”

“Wasn’t that how you spent like, the majority of your high school career?” Lucas said, sounding confused.

“Look, I know you’ve never been to one before, Sinclair, but those were _high school_ parties. For my _cool_ friends.” Steve stated, a bit meanly.

“Ouch.” Lucas deadpanned.

Dustin _pshaw-ed,_ “Those were your old, _lame_ friends. Now it’s time to throw a party for all your new, much cooler friends.”

Which was admittedly true. It wasn’t like those friendships lasted long or were very rewarding or meaningful in the first place, but the little shits didn’t need to know that either.

“We deserve some fun and good old holiday cheer, Steve. After all the shit we’ve been through.” Dustin continued.

_Amen to that,_ Steve thought tiredly. All kids deserved to party with friends and not have to worry about parents hanging around, judging them for things they couldn’t understand. Especially these kids, whose problems were transdimensional...

“Maybe.” Steve sighed. “But why the hell’s it gotta be _my_ place? And who the hell is coming to this party? Theoretically.”

Dustin beamed, no doubt sensing that he was swiftly winning Steve over. That was him. _Good old Steve Harrington, the push-over._

“Well, the Party, of course - which includes El and Max, just so we’re clear - all the Byers, and Hopper. Oh, and Nancy.” Dustin counted off.

Steve shook his head. “Nuh-uh. No way. No way in hell.” 

“Why not?! It’s perfect!” Dustin exclaimed, with all his usual self-assured pluck.

Steve scoffed. “Yeah. Maybe for _you_ little shits.”

“You said your parents are out of town. Empty house with no one out of the loop around, check.” Lucas began, counting off on his fingers. “Big house, big enough to fit the whole troop, check.” he continued before he brought his hand down and simply stated, “Also Dustin’s been over before and we’re all a little insulted.”

Dustin indigently began, “You don’t have to say it like _that—_”

“And you’ve cooked for him already.” Lucas continued, heedless of Dustin’s complaints.

Steve pointedly glared at Dustin. “That was our secret.”

Dustin was making it a point to avoid eye contact as he flimsily started, “Well, we never explicitly agreed—”

“You wanna get explicit? I’ll get explicit you little—”

“I just think that it’s high time that the rest of us were extended an invitation, is all.” Lucas cut in, ignoring the two front-seaters’ bickering. He leant back into the cushions and crossed his arms, an all too pleased look on his face, as if he had just performed some kind of ultimate, unbeatable move. A checkmate. 

“Yeah, well me making tacos and shit for Henderson is a lot different than making a whole goddamn Christmas feast for you nerds and the Byers and the goddamn Chief of Police and his magic daughter.”

“_Tacos?_” Lucas parroted with utter disappointment (and a hint of betrayal) over having missed such an occasion.

“Ye_p._” Dustin popped with a little too much satisfaction over having one-up’d his friend seeping into his voice and evident by his jutted jaw. “With freshly chopped steak and everything. Like he cut up a hunk of steak and then chopped it into itty pieces and seared them up.”

Lucas audibly swallowed before he sighed, “Ah, man…”

Ignoring them both, Max leaned forward and stuck her head over the center console between the two front seats and lolled her head in the driver’s direction. “Don’t be a Scrooge, Steve. It’s a major cliche.”

“I know that you’re new here, kid.” Steve started, as if he were about to begin one of his _‘I’m more experienced than you’_ speeches. “But my whole life is a cliche.”

“Well, you’re not very good at sticking to the script, if you ask me.” she shrugged.

“I didn’t.” he said without missing a beat as he turned a corner. “And just because I don’t want a home invasion doesn’t mean I’m a Scrooge.”

“But tis the season for home invasions, Steve.” Lucas practically sing-songed. At the rest of the car’s blank looks, he furthered, “‘Cause of Santa Claus? Duh.”

Steve’s brows furrowed in distaste. “That’s a messed up way of looking at it, Sinclair.”

“Yeah, thanks for forever ruining Santa Claus for everybody, Lucas.” Dustin chimed in. 

Lucas clicked his tongue. “You’re just mad ‘cause it’s true.”

“And you’re all idiots.” Max rebutted before she turned her attention back to Steve. “You most of all if you think a party’s a drag. Weren’t you some kind of party king?”

“Yeah, y’know, before her brother dethroned you?” Lucas prodded. 

“Strike two, Sinclair. One more and I’m literally kicking you to the curb.” Steve threatened with another pointed glare in the rearview mirror.

Lucas scrunched up his face in confused annoyance. “When was I even given a strike one?”

“It’s not like all the cooking duties are gonna be left to you. Everyone’ll pitch in and bring something.” Dustin continued despite Steve’s various attempts to shut this conversation down.

“Like a potluck.” Lucas furthered.

“Yeah!” Dustin exclaimed.

“_And,_” Max began, holding a hand up to her chest in her version of a sincere gesture, “we’ll personally help you set things up _and_ lend you a hand in the kitchen.”

“That’s awfully generous, Mayfield…” Steve drolled, sending Max a suspicious look in the mirror. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch is that I got nothing better to do.” she answered plainly.

“I just don’t see why it has to be _my_ house.” Steve groused stubbornly. “I’m sure there are plenty of other places to—”

“You don’t get it, Steve!” Dustin continued to protest, _loudly._ “This is the only way that Hopper’s gonna let it happen! It can’t be at any of our houses ‘cause of our families and the Byers’ house is too small and the cabin is supposed to be a secret. Your house is gonna be empty.” he pointed out and if Steve hadn’t faced down both a Demagorgon and demadogs (he didn’t care that they were basically the same thing), he would’ve flinched at the slap of that harsh truth.

But as it turns out, Steve didn’t have to as Dustin’s expression quickly sobered as he seemed to realize the implications of what he just said, all on his own. “I...I didn’t mean it like that.” he quickly assured.

With a calm that didn’t betray the sting the words brought to his old wounds, Steve shrugged and said, “I know what you meant.” 

He couldn’t blame the kid. It _was_ true, after all. Like every year since before he could remember, Steve’s house would be empty and this year he didn’t have Tommy or Carol or Nancy’s celebration to crash.

So what was so wrong with the idea of throwing a post-We Saved the World (twice) bash at his place instead of shooting back spiked eggnog after eggnog and pathetically singing along to Garland and Crosby till December 25th came to an end?

“We’ll help.” Max repeated in an oddly calm and reassuring voice, breaking Steve from his depressing thoughts. “Mom and Neil have a party and who the hell cares what Billy is doing. I have all day to help you.” 

“And this’ll get me out of going to my Great Aunt Edna’s with my mom.” Dustin added. “It’s in Wisconsin, Steve. _Wisconsin._ Don’t make me go back there.”

“What’s wrong with Wisconsin?” Lucas asked, seeming genuinely confused.

Dustin looked back at him and plainly answered, as if it were entirely too obvious, “Great Aunt Edna is there.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in thought, weighing his options (which there weren’t many of).

Eventually, he gave a heavy sigh. “What day would this hypothetical party be?”

Lucas barely contained his victorious noise, Max hitting him in admonishment, and Dustin beamed a strange smile at him. One that looked...proud, for some reason.

“The 23rd.” Dustin answered him, which Steve noted was only like, less than a week away. “Everything’s all planned out, from who’s bringing what to what time everybody’s coming and everything.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “That so? You tell everybody that this party was happening at my place _before_ you asked me?”

“I said I had an _idea_ for a fixed location.” Dustin countered, at least looking a bit sheepish.

“Hopper may have also mentioned that the only way he’d let it happen would be if it was at your place.” Lucas shrugged in admittance. “‘Cause of how secluded we’d be or something.”

“I think he only agreed because he was pretty freakin’ sure that you’d say no.” Max stated to Steve in a tone that spoke plain truth. “I wish I could see his face when he finds out it’s actually happening.”

“That makes one of us...” Steve murmured as he slouched a bit in his seat. _Great._ Now the freakin’ Chief of Police was gonna be pissed off ‘cause of him. Maybe not directly pissed off at him, but _because_ of him. Which was just as bad.

“But imagine how psyched El will be!” Dustin added jovially. “Her first actual Christmas with family! It’ll be the greatest Christmas party of all time!” he proclaimed.

And _shit, that’s right._ It was that El girl’s first Christmas out of hiding, as far as Steve knew. He doesn’t know much about the kid (he’s only kinda-sorta met her in person once, but _holy shit_ was she a little badass, with a popped jacket collar and dark eye grease, looking like a Joan Jett look-alike). He figured that those kooks at the Lab didn’t treat her the best (which was the understatement of the century) so he’s pretty damn sure that any sorta history of holiday celebrations was off the table.

With a suddenly sparked - or rather, afire interest, Steve began to actually contemplate throwing a Christmas party for their weird little troop in earnest.

“What...What’s everyone bringing exactly?” Steve asked somewhat hesitantly, a bit confused as to why it was so hard to voice in the first place.

Dustin beamed at him again, that strange little satisfied - _proud_ smile he sometimes gave him. “Lots of different things!” he answered enthusiastically. 

As they finally pulled up to the front of the Arcade, Dustin began rummaging through his backpack again, this time pulling out a freakin’ Manila folder with the word _‘CONFIDENTIAL’_ written across it in red Sharpie. _Overdramatic little shit._

Steve pulled into a close by vacant spot, the whole lot basically empty because it was so freaking cold out that nobody in their right mind would think about going outside if they absolutely didn’t have to. Nobody except Steve’s dumb kids, he thought as he put the car into park.

“This is everything you need to know.” Dustin said vaguely, giving the folder a light smack with the back of his hand before handing it over to a scrutinous Steve.

As the gremlins filed out of his car, the Winter chill flooding in, Steve repressed a shudder and opened the folder only to have his eyes drawn to an envelope taped to the inside of it.

However, this envelope had something much more specific written across it in red and green Sharpie. 

_‘Secret Santa for Steve’_

“My freakin’ _what—_” Steve began before he was interrupted by the sound of the passenger door slamming shut, apparently the only way Dustin knew how to end conversations.

“I knew he’d freak.” Steve heard Max add before the back doors promptly shut and Steve was left alone as the three pre-teens hurriedly made their way out of the cold and into the arcade.

With a scowl, Steve turned his attention back to the folder. The other paper inside it was just a list of things people agreed to bring, from food to games to decorations. 

The other thing was of course the damn envelope.

A Secret Santa gift exchange? What were they, a damn Girl Scout troop? 

Steve threw the folder on the passenger seat, deciding to just ignore the stupid concept entirely and just focus on getting the house ready and breaking out those Lurkins and Rosso cookbooks his mom bought and then never used, already having a good idea of what he should make for the stupid dinner…

But then again, he thought as he looked back to the folder, he didn’t wanna be the only asshole who didn’t get anyone anything. <strike>(Imagine one of those kids’ heartbroken faces when they found out nobody got them anything. That they were forgotten).</strike>

With an audible groan, Steve leaned over and roughly grabbed the folder, opening it up and tearing the envelope away from the piece of tape that held it to the folder.

“What _bullshit…_” he muttered to himself as he ripped the envelope open.

When he read the little slip of paper that was written inside - small enough that it must’ve been put into a hat along with a bunch of others - Steve’s face fell and something that had to be dread or despair settled in the pit of his stomach.

_Great._ How was he supposed to know what the hell freaking _Max Mayfield_ \- stepsister of the reason Steve’s face and ribs still held a twinge of pain anytime he pulled the wrong move - wanted for Christmas?


	2. The Actual Setting Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max arrives at the Harrington home a few hours before the party's set to start to help get things ready and makes some observations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: depictions of blood as well as mentions of violence, including child abuse. They’re not gone over in too much depth but are mentioned quite explicitly, so be warned.

_“Have a holly, jolly Christmas  
It's the best time of the year...”_

Max wasn’t really in the Christmas mood this year, despite how cheery the animated snowman on the radio sounded. Or really, she hasn’t been in the mood any year since her parents split.

But the Christmas after moving to the middle-of-nowhere, Indiana and learning that there’s an alternate dimension that has multiple crazy monsters that are trying to kill you and take over the whole _dimension_ while they’re at it, left her feeling especially not so holly jolly.

But the Hargroves (plus one Mayfield) had a new house, new jobs, new people to show off to. So they’d send out their Christmas cards, go to the parties they had to go to. If there was one thing her home life had taught her, it’s that image is everything. Images told people what to think. For the expanded Hargroves, they wanted their image to say, _‘Look at our modern family, aren’t you impressed?’_

If only everyone in this blind town could see behind that _Brady Bunch_ facade that her mom tried desperately to keep in place. If Hawkins could see what everyone in California saw, then maybe they’d have skip town again. Or maybe - even less likely - they’d become so good at playing their roles that eventually, it would be an act anymore. They’d be a functioning, normal family. Maybe then Max would stop feeling like she had to be on high alert every time they were all together.

But since that was all super unlikely, she guessed she could get used to Hawkins. 

Evil monsters aside, this town wasn’t all bad. She had made some great friends here. Better friends than she’s ever made in her whole life spent in California. 

All the girls in her hometown were too...valley girl for Max’s taste. On the hot black top at recess in elementary school, while Max wanted to explore, adventure, play superheroes, all the other girls just wanted to sit down in a shady part of the black top and just _talk._ All recess long. About nothing really because they were like nine, what the hell could they have to talk about that was so important? It bothered her a lot at first, that she couldn’t completely fit in with the other girls. She liked _Laverne & Shirley_ as much as the next girl and was prone to voicing the occasional, unironic_‘gag me with a spoon’_ but that didn’t mean that they had anything in common. Very few of them went for her whole rebel-secret-nerd vibe and boys were just brain dead and thought she had some sort of disease that they could catch if they went near her and _didn’t_ try and pick a fight with her. So she spent most of her time alone. But she had the skatepark and the arcade at the Pier. She was fine. She had fun on her own. She had the scars and high scores to prove it.

But moving to Hawkins, having friends her age, with interests she actually shared, who literally risked their lives for her’s and everyone else’s, was pretty sweet (not that she’d ever admit that, she was supposed to be the cool Californian after all).

Despite her bad stroke of luck with holiday seasons, having a friend group-wide Christmas party was also pretty sweet. Grown up and teenage relations to those friends aside, she never thought she’d have enough friends to even have such a thing. It was...nice.

But she couldn’t believe her incredibly bad stroke of luck when the Secret Santa assignments were given out. She knew it was anonymous, but _come on._ Someone had to be messing with her.

Of all the people to choose from, she had to get _El._ The only one of the Party who hated Max, for some reason. Maybe it was just because Max was - well - Max. And no girl’s ever liked Max. 

But the assignments were final and once you picked a name, you couldn’t put it back (unless it was your own name of course). Dustin had been super adamant about that rule for some reason. Which kind of pissed Max off because she would’ve traded with Mike in a heartbeat because he clearly wanted El and was noticeably mad when he didn’t get her and Max would’ve taken anybody else out of the lot. _Anybody._ Even the freaking Police Chief if it meant not getting El. 

But no. The results were final, she reminded herself as her hands gripped the shoddily wrapped present in her lap a little tighter. The Party had picked their gift recipients and then Dustin made sure that Mike’s sister, the Chief and El, and Will’s brother and mom were given their random assignments. And Steve, who was given the last name in the lot, since no one bothered to inform him about all this until the last second.

As that old snowman finally sang his last note, the car pulled up outside of the Harrington residence, the address having been radioed to her by Dustin only a few days ago. Her mom (she wasn’t stupid enough to hand over Steve’s address by having _Billy_ drive her) then pulled into the driveway and - for some reason - cut the engine.

As her mom unbuckled her own seatbelt, Max felt something like dread dawn. She whipped her head into her mother’s direction and asked with abject horror, “What’re you doing?”

Mom looked over to her, looking mildly amused yet confused at Max’s reaction. “Going to go greet your host?”

“No.” Max responded immediately.

Mom just rolled her eyes as she opened the car door and stepped out, heels clicking on the pavement as she found a snow-free patch to walk on.

“_Mom._” Max choked out in horror as she momentarily struggled to undo her own seatbelt, rushing out of the car, not caring about the cold snow leaking into the Mary Janes her mom forced her into as she lept straight into a snowbank in her haste. Max nearly sprinted around the car and blocked her mom’s path through the Harrington’s _massive - what the hell_ \- driveway, nearly causing her to drop the plate of gingerbread men she had made the night before.

“Maxine.” Mom huffed in frustration. 

“You’re not going in there.” Max stated firmly, even holding her arms out for good measure.

Mom just rolled her eyes again, clearly unimpressed. “Max, hunny, I’m not hanging around. I’m just dropping these off, I promise.”

“Well then, _I_ can just bring these inside for you...” Max insisted as she began to reach for the plate before Mom easily pulled them away from her reach.

“Honestly, Maxine, knock it off.” Mom said in a stern tone, causing Max to frown and drop her arms to her sides with an audible _slap._ “Thank you.” Mom added, her expression doing a complete 180 as she delicately stepped around Max and through the shoveled path of snow that lead to Steve’s front porch. Max followed after, frowning. Mom somehow noticed, of course.

“Relax, sweety. I just want to meet the boy, is all. Not only does he drive you around all the time but he hosts a party for you and all of your friends? It’s sweet.” Mom explained, but Max wasn’t fooled.

“I know you think it’s weird.” she said bluntly. 

Mom huffed another breath. “Well, I won’t lie.” she admitted, leaving it at that.

“I told you, Mom. He’s our _babysitter._” she reiterated for what felt like the thousandth time. 

“I know, I know...What a nice house.” Mom noted, clearly not listening to Max anymore as she took in the impressive sight that was the Harrington residence. 

There were Christmas lights hung up all along the roof and what her mom would describe as ‘tasteful’ decorations. No blatant baby Jesus in a manger or plastic Rudolph leading Santa’s sleigh but a lot of little lights winding down the path, the skinny tree to the right strung with lights, and garland hung all over the place. And on the most massive, weirdest door Max has ever seen on a house - there were _two_ of them, leading to _one_ place - hung two massive, lushes green wreaths. It looked like something straight out of one of Mom’s home magazines. Max knew that Loch Nora was supposed to be the rich neighborhood, but _damn._ It was the type of place she would’ve hit up on Halloween. No doubt they gave out full-size candy bars. She wonders if the group deliberately avoided the place that night.

Without further delay, Mom rang the doorbell and Max half expected for like, a gong or something to sound but no, it just sounded like a normal doorbell.

Over the blaring sax of the music coming from inside, Max could hear what sounded like muffled, excited shouts, a cry of alarm, and then straight up screaming. Mom’s face twisted with _something_ either worry or judgement. Probably both.

Then, the double doors opened inward and then Dustin appeared, face turned away as he screamed, “_I GOT IT!_” at what had to have been the top of his lungs before he turned his head in their direction and beamed. “Max!” he exclaimed at a lower-yet-still-high volume before he took a second and realized that Max wasn’t actually alone. “Mrs. Mayfield!” he greeted, equally as enthusiastic. 

“Hargrove.” Max corrected.

“Oh sh_iii—right!_ Sorry, Mrs. Hargrove.” he amended with a somewhat sheepish smile.

“That’s alright.” Mom smiled, looking Dustin over from his loud _‘Holium Holium Holium’_ sweater to his elf hat, fit with pointed ears and a jingle bell. “You must be Dustin?” Mom guessed and Max had to give it to her on that.

That only seemed to make Dustin more enthusiastic. “Yes! Hi, nice to meet you. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas.” Mom returned. “I’ll be honest, Dustin. You’re not quite who I expected to meet right now, but I’m happy to _finally_ meet one of Maxine’s friends, regardless.” she said with a pointed glance to Max. Max just resisted rolling her eyes.

“Me too!” Dustin returned before realization of what Max’s mom actually meant set in. “Oh, but Steve’s just in the kitchen. He’s, uh, cleaning up a spill.”

“Yeah, ‘cause _you_ made him drop the eggs!” came Lucas’ shout from what had to be the kitchen. Sure enough, from down the hall, Lucas came strolling into view, flicking what had to be egg from off his foot. “I swear, that guy’s jumpier than a bunny…”

“What the hell did you just say, Sinclair?” came Steve’s indignant reply from the kitchen.

“My mistake! You’re clearly Bambi!” Lucas shouted back pointedly before he caught sight of Max and her mom in the doorway and froze. Max was all but holding her head in her hands at this point. _Idiots..._

At least Dustin looked guilty, empathetic grimace on his face as his eyes nervously flickered from Max’s mom to the kitchen.

“I swear to God, Sinclair. How many times do I gotta go over the strike system with—” Steve began, walking out into the foyer and wiping his hands aggressively on a dishtowel. Once he caught sight of the woman in the doorway however, he paused.

Then suddenly, it was as if a flip were switched.

The startled expression switched to something almost sheepish. _Meek._ Despite looking completely off guard just a second before, Steve seemed to swiftly compose himself as he smoothly flung the towel over his shoulder, walking the rest of the slightly considerable distance between the kitchen and the front door with a clear hint of hustle. “Oh, sorry. Mrs. Hargrove, right?” he greeted, looking a bit _timid._

Mom gave a polite smile. “That’s right. Steve, right? It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

Steve flashed a pearly smile, seeming a bit more confident, “Thanks. You too. Sorry. Caught me a bit off guard...Oh. Let me get that.” he insisted as he reached out and took the cookie ladened plate from Max’s mom.

“Oh, well, thank you!” Mom returned, looking pleased. 

_What the _fuck _was going on?_

Lucas and Dustin were also giving Steve baffled looks, so good, it wasn’t only Max who weirded out then. 

But the weirdest part was that it didn’t look like Steve was faking. It just looked like this was how he always acted with adults. Which was weird, ‘cause Max can’t remember if she’s ever seen him act this way with the Chief or Will’s mom. He seemed very polite. Like he was watching everything that he did and choosing everything that he said very carefully. It was then that Max realized that Steve wasn’t playing shy. He was actually nervous that he’d somehow fuck up this interaction. Max didn’t know if she should be flattered or weirded out.

“And you must be Lucas?” Mom guessed, breaking Max out of her thoughts as a new kind of worry formed. She recognized that tone. That was Mom’s _insinuating_ tone. 

In a moment of weakness - and in the hopes of fending off further lectures about _‘being open to new situations’_ \- Max told her mom that she’d danced with Lucas at the Snow Ball (she left out the part about the kissing, because she wasn’t an _idiot_).

Lucas smiled and with an expressional transition that wasn’t nearly as smooth or subtle as Steve’s, he sauntered forward, knocking into said teen as he held out his hand to Mom. “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Lucas. Sinclair.”

“She _just_ said your name, stupid.” Max pointed out, but she went ignored.

Mom took his hand and gave it a shake, amusement clear in her expression, so Max guessed that was a good sign. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lucas.”

“You as well.” he added in what Max assumed was supposed to be his Lionel Richie impression. But then, nervously, he added, “Ma’am.”

Mom laughed. “Well, like I said. It’s nice to finally meet some of Max’s friends.” she said to Dustin and Lucas, who flashed her smiles.

“Would you like to come inside, Mrs. Hargrove?” Steve then asked. “I’ll admit, it’s a bit of a mess because we’re still trying to get everything ready for tonight, but it’s a lot warmer in here than it is on the stoop, I can tell you that.”

“No, no, that’s alright. I can’t stay.” Mom informed. “But I just wanted to pop by and say thank you. Firstly to Maxine’s friends for being so nice to her. Moving can be tough, so thanks for making it a little easier for her.”

“_Mom._” Max groaned.

“No problem, Mrs. Hargrove.” Dustin beamed again. 

“Yeah, I love Max.” Lucas assured before his eyes widened and he continued, “I love - We! We love having her around. Everybody.”

Steve gave a snort and Dustin seemed to be doing his best to keep himself from falling over, ducking behind Steve to hide his poorly contain chortles.

This time, Max rolled her eyes, despite the warm feeling that pooled in her stomach.

“Well that’s good to know.” Mom, to her credit, laughed before she turned her gaze to Steve. “And secondly, thank you for all the free babysitting. I do wish you’d let us pay—”

“No, it’s no problem. I love the little knuckleheads.” Steve assured as he grabbed onto Dustin’s head and ruffled his hair pretty roughly much to the other’s voiced annoyance. He even knocked Dustin’s stupid hat from his head, the little bell jingling frantically as the younger fumbled to catch it and keep it from falling to the floor.

“Um, Steve, if you don’t mind my asking, how is it that you know all the kids…?” Mom trailed and _there it was._ Max knew Mom was taking this all too well.

“Mom, he’s our babysitter.” Max reminded for what had to have been the thousandth time. 

“Nancy’s—uh, our friend Mike’s sister’s boyfriend.” Lucas added. “Um. Ex. Ex-boyfriend.”

Steve gave Lucas the stink eye and Max is sure that he would’ve loved to bring up the strike system again right about now.

“Her ex-boyfriend?” Mom parroted, seeming confused.

“He’s also my big brother!” Dustin added hastily, to which the rest of the group gave him looks of horror (except for Max’s mom, who just looked more confused). Thankfully, Dustin was (debatably) smart enough to realize that there was no way Max’s mom would’ve bought that. “From the Big Brother program. At school.” he quickly amended.

Mom’s eyes lit up in what had to have been understanding and Max and Lucas visibly deflated from their worry, but Steve looked confused, like he had no idea what Dustin’s excuse even meant. Luckily, Dustin noticed this and was able to save the day again. 

With a grand flourish, Dustin wrapped his arm around Steve’s back a bit roughly, nearly causing the latter to drop the platter he still carried. “Yes, ma’am, the day we got paired was the best day of my life. The Hawkins Big Brother program - that, uh, disbanded not too long ago - paired up us underprivileged, only children and gave us the best Big Siblings we could’ve asked for. Isn’t that right, big bro?”

Steve pulled a face, which was hard to describe. He still looked confused, but instead of the disgust Max was expecting, his expression looked carefully...neutral. “Yeah.” Steve practically croaked. “Right.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Mom _cooed,_ looking at Steve as if he were some kind of Saint. _Damn,_ Max didn’t think that the lie would work _that_ well.

“Yep. Ever since, even after the program shut down, we’ve been thick as thieves. I haven’t given him a single day of peace since.” Dustin continued, doing his best impression of someone reminiscing about times much farther away than like, a month ago.

“Not one.” Steve added dryly.

Mom giggled again. “Well, thank you again for always looking after the kids. And for throwing this party! How nice! And for including Max.”

_Alright,_ her mom was making her sound like a loser.

“No problem. I appreciate the free labor.” Steve joked as he used his free arm to pull Max into the doorway, the chill already leaving her as the heat from the indoors and her nearby friends radiated to her. “Got a lot of prep to do before six, so I need all the help I can get. Even if Lucas has just been using the time to riffle through my records.” to which Lucas made an indignant noise of complaint.

Mom was clearly charmed, because she laughed _again._ _(What the hell, Steve? What kind of lame superpower was this?)_

“Well, I’ll stop wasting all your heating and let you all get to it.” Mom dismissed politely as she turned to Max and brushed a lock of hair that had fallen from the braid she had painfully given her earlier behind her ear. “I’ll see you later tonight. Thank you again, boys. It was nice meeting you all. Merry Christmas, from my family to yours!”

None of them voiced their shared thought that the only members of her family that would even want to wish them such a thing were already standing on this porch. Instead, they returned the kind gesture and offered their goodbyes as Mom’s heels clicked down the path back to the driveway and the car, the woman soon pulling away to many enthusiastic waves from Dustin and Lucas.

“She’s nice.” Lucas commented, turning to Max with a smile, who did not return his gesture in the slightest.

“That could’ve gone a lot worse.” Dustin noted.

“You think so, _little bro?_” Steve asked pointedly.

“I didn’t see you coming up with anything better!”

“Whatever, just get inside. You’re wasting all the heat.” he said as he promptly turned, ushering the rest of them inside with a few pointed shoves.

“No fair. Why’re you only an asshole to us?”

“Yeah, that’s some BS.” Lucas added before Steve kicked the doors closed.

If Max thought the outside of the Harrington home was impressive, the inside was even more so. Asides from being massive, it looked pretty modernly designed with the neutral color tones and the Christmas decorations inside matching those of the outside, with garland and twinkling lights wrapped around the stair banister. She noted, however, that any sort of non-Christmas decoration remained entirely...neutral. She didn’t see one family photo anywhere. Not even any pictures of just _people_ in general.

“Nice digs. I love what Martha Stewart’s done with the place.” Max commented as she shrugged out of her coat, the warmth of the house already seeping into her body. 

Like the gentleman Lucas was (trying to be), he held out his arm and with a roll of her eyes, Max draped her coat along it.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to say, what the hell, Steve?” Lucas asked as he opened the door nearest the stairs (the coat closet, apparently) and hung her coat on one of the hooks for her. “I thought your mom wasn’t home?”

“She’s not.” Steve grounded out, clearly annoyed as he continued on down the hall, the rest of the group following along.

“Oh, then you’ve done all the decorating yourself? I didn’t take you as the artsy type.” Max jabbed as they walked past an impressive looking china cabinet.

“Shut up, Mayfield. Even if my mom isn’t here, I think she’d have an aneurysm if the house wasn’t perfectly decorated. And, f-y-i, she didn’t leave till a couple weeks ago. Besides, she hires people to do most of it anyway...” Steve explained. Max doubted that was entirely true, eyeing the elaborately set dining room table they walked past skeptically. When they finally reached what had to have been the kitchen, Steve turned in the entryway and stopped, blocking the rest of the way for everyone with his long limbs. “The rest of the decorating, _you_ shits are supposed to be doing. Including decorating that goddamn _real_ tree Henderson insisted on.”

“You can’t have a _plastic_ tree at El’s first Christmas, Steve!” Dustin responded with a bit of an edge to his tone, giving Max the impression that they’ve had this argument before. “Think of the precedent you’re setting!” 

“No, what I’m thinking of is all the shit that you and Sinclair still have to set-up for tonight. I put it in the stupid stand for you, get the decorations for the fake tree and put them on the real one, already.”

“Okay, okay. Just relax, buddy.” Dustin sighed placatingly as he retreated, knowing that he had nothing more to argue.

That didn’t mean Lucas didn’t though. “God, you’re so bossy...” he grumbled as he and Dustin retreated from where they came, back past the dining room and to the foyer. 

“You’re going to the attic _only._” Steve called after them.

“_Yeah/Okay._” Dustin and Lucas answered simultaneously, both sounding equally as unconvincing as they stomped up the stairs with as much noise as a band of horses. 

Steve made what could’ve only been classified as a growling noise before he turned into the kitchen and Max followed after him. 

Of course, the kitchen was pristine white with goddamn marble and granite or something and an island, complete with stools and shit. The only thing looking off about the picturesque scene was all the cooking crap strewn around everywhere. 

Steve walked over to a corner of the long countertop near the fridge and placed the plate from Max’s mom down alongside another covered tray already there, probably brought by one of the other idiots. He then went to the sink and rinsed his hands off before he wiped them off on the rag hung over his shoulder and made his way over to the stove.

“Wash your hands and then crack two more eggs into that the bowl over there. Mix it after each one.” Steve ordered with a gesture over his shoulder to the metal mixing bowl on the island countertop and half-empty egg carton next to it, before he bent over and checked a knob on the oven.

“Making the girl help you in the kitchen? I thought you were more open minded than that.” Max scoffed as she placed her wrapped gift on the little table they passed near the windows. Despite her comment, she made her way to the sink and after having to take a moment to figure out what knob controlled the water and what released the soap (_damn rich people_), Max washed up.

“You can do whatever the hell you want, Red. Just that those bozos have proved to be completely incompetent with any kind of utensil, not to mention Sinclair keeps trying to eat all my goddamn cereal every time he comes in here, so I thought you’d be the best bet ‘cause no way I’m getting all this shit done in time by myself.” Steve rambled before he straightened up and looked straight to the gift she had placed down. “That for the Secret Santa?”

Max just raised an eyebrow.

Steve rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Yeah, obviously. You can put it in the living room with the rest of them. Just keep heading straight and then it’s on your left.” he instructed.

“Making me wash my hands for literally no reason...” Max groused as she made her way out of the kitchen to do just that.

“Now who’s being a Scrooge?” was Steve’s lax reply as he continued to do whatever it was he was doing.

As Max made her way out of the room and past the china cabinet, she decided now was as good a time as any to do some snooping of the ground floor. She followed the music and went past a little sitting area with windows to the woods outback and took a left, finding the room with the stereo with relative ease. Peeking over a random mini half-wall, she found what had to be the stairs to the basement. Looking back to the entryway of the next room, she saw what looked to be a loveseat, so she guessed that had to be the living room, despite all the couches she’s walked past already. Well, since she found the living room already, she might as well check out what was straight down the hall, before the turn. 

She retraced her steps and surprise surprise, she found _more_ chairs in a room she was able to identify as a sunroom, thanks to her mom’s love of home magazines. It had wide windows all around and a set of sliding doors that lead to a big snow-covered back lawn and patio and a giant, covered pool. The lack of snow atop the tarp lead Max to believe that the pool was heated, a fact that she would be sure to confirm and/or exploit in the near future. There wasn’t much else to look at in this room, so she let the sound of the music that was still playing guide back to where she came from, thinking to herself that it was doing a pretty decent job at describing what she just saw. The yard looked like a calendar picture, mostly undisturbed sparkling snow blanketing the grass, the rest of it sprinkled on the trees that lied beyond the tall wooden fence...

The whole house, including the yards, seemed to be really open. It was way less cramped than anywhere Max has ever lived, that was for sure. The hallways wound on for seemingly forever. It would be easy to get lost if she wasn’t paying attention. And this was just the first floor. Overall, Max thought that it seemed like a lot of space for just three people. A lot of empty space.

Finally, she entered the living room and of course, it was just as impressive as the rest of the place fit with a big TV, a nice fireplace, like, a dozen places to sit, and that tree the guys were bitching about. 

It was an impressive height, taller than Max’s tree at home, the Harrington’s crazy high ceilings fitting it more than comfortably. It was also barren aside from some white lights wrapped around it, the empty cardboard boxes laid out by it, and the three presents laying underneath on the skirt beneath it. Clutching the gift in her hand, Max thought that El would definitely be impressed by the tree. It felt good to be sure about at least that.

But, like the rest of the rooms, the living room looked like it was straight from a magazine, any little telling knickknacks or mementos that could cue you into just who the hell was living here were missing. It was kind of...sad, she noted as she placed her gift underneath the tree, which lacked any other gifts besides the ones that they all brought.

“Pretty nice, right?” a voice called, causing her to crane her head all the way up to meet the owner’s gaze. Looking down at her from the apparently open-walled walkway of the second floor, was Dustin.

“It’s unnecessarily big.” Max noted as she straightened up.

Dustin, as always, seemed undeterred by Max’s slightly sullen attitude and just grinned at her. “Wait until you see the upstairs! Lucas got lost like, four times.”

Just then, as if he had been summoned, Lucas’ face appeared next to Dustin’s. “One bedroom’s got a fireplace, Max. A _fireplace!_”

“THAT DOESN’T SOUND LIKE YOU’RE MOVING BOXES!” came Steve’s yell, audible even from the kitchen and over the music.

“ALRIGHT!” Dustin screeched back at an equally as loud volume before he and Lucas disappeared from her sight again. Max resisted rolling her eyes and instead returned to the kitchen.

“Your house is crazy big, rich boy.” she commented when she finally reentered to see Steve standing at the island countertop, dicing up like, a full loaf of bread.

“You guys are really making me feel good about agreeing to this party, you know that?” Steve replied, not taking his eyes off his task.

“What’re you making anyway?” Max asked as she peered over his shoulder. 

Steve then muttered something, the words being lost in a clearly fake cough. 

“What?” Max grunted.

Steve stopped his cutting, let out a way too dramatic sigh, and then muttered more intelligibly, “Pineapple soufflé.”

Max couldn’t help her laugh. “I’m sorry, _what?_”

“You heard me, brat.” Steve bit out as he hunched his shoulders before giving her a shove with his elbow. This only spurred Max into further laughter. “It’s for the goddamn ham, alright? Keep laughing, I won’t let you have any.”

“You’re making ham? Like a whole ham?” Max asked. 

“Yeah, cause the only other actual food for tonight is that small-ass, uncooked turkey Dustin brought over and I’ve seen how you gremlins eat, let alone the rest of this stupid group...” Steve explained as he continued his cutting with a bit too much gusto, face turned down. 

_Oh,_ Max then realized. _He’s embarrassed._

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Max commented, easing up for the time being and making her tone more neutral.

Steve eyed her. “I thought Dustin blabbed to you guys?”

“He said you cooked.” she shrugged. “But I didn’t think he meant you could _actually_ cook…” Max furthered, eyeing the open cookbooks on the countertop curiously.

“That remains to be seen.” Lucas then commented from the doorway, ‘causing Steve to practically jump out of his skin. “Relax, man. You’re too jumpy.”

“Keep it up, Sinclair and see how much farther you’re gonna get.” Steve, now recovered, threatened, along with a wave of the knife in his hand.

“In what?”

“In _life._”

Lucas huffed, unimpressed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“What the hell are you even doing here? Those boxes better be down here.”

“They _are._” Lucas groaned. “We’re decorating, we just wanted to know how to change the radio over to the record player.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “I thought I told you not to touch my records?”

“And I thought you said they were your _mom’s_ records?” Lucas countered with a smirk. “Because really, I didn’t take you for an _ABBA_ fan.”

Max gave a disbelieving snort. 

Steve scowled. “_Those_ are my mom’s.”

“But if she’s been gone for like, a week, why’re they on the top of the pile?”

Steve sighed heavily. “If you’re some kinda genius, Sinclair, how come you can’t work a stupid sound system?” 

Lucas put up his hands in a placating manner. “Was just double checking. I could always leave the radio on the Christmas station. If we’re lucky, maybe some more _Wham!_ will come on.”

“_Jesus Christ,_ just get Henderson to do it! He knows how to work it.” Steve finally snapped, slamming the knife down on the counter.

Lucas gave a shit-eating grin over having won yet another battle of wits. “Thanks, Steve!” he thanked before he bolted out of the room and called out _“He said yes!”,_ Dustin’s excited _‘WHOOP!’_ easily audible from the living room.

Steve grimaced, as if he wasn’t sure whether to smile or scowl before he went back to his cutting, probably focusing a bit too much on it. Max eyed him, going back over to the sink and washing her hands before walking back over to the island next to Steve. She hitched up her sleeves and picked up an egg from the carton, cracking it on the side of the bowl.

“Yokes?” she asked.

“Huh?” Steve huffed.

“For the mix or whatever. Do you need the yokes?”

“Oh, yeah.” he finally answered, looking up and shooting her a...weird look. Appreciative was the best word she could come up with to describe it.

Without further prompting, she dumped the shell’s contents into the bowl which already had most of some kind of creamed mixture. She turned and tossed the empty shell into the sink behind her. When she turned back, she noticed Steve’s weird look was still directed at her and eyed him suspiciously. “_What?_” she asked, defensive annoyance leaking into her tone.

“Nothing.” Steve said in a breathy laugh, reaching across the counter and handing Max the hand mixer she didn’t notice before. “Just that those idiots wouldn’t even think to ask a question like that. That’s why I thought you’d be the best of the lot for this.” he explained as he went back to his cutting.

“I’m the best of them for everything.” Max corrected before she looked at the mixer, finding the switch she needed to and setting to work, trying not to let the fact that the power of the stupid thing caused her hand to jerk before she quickly regained control.

Over the sound of the mixer’s whirring, Max heard Steve actually laugh at her comment. “Damn right, Red.”

As Steve’s eyes were averted to focus on his task, Max now eyed him for an entirely new reason. That was the first time she ever heard him give a laugh that _wasn’t_ slightly condescending or resembling a scoff. The first one he didn’t try to play off as cool. _Christ,_ was Steve Harrington actually dropping his cool guy act infront of her?

She’d always been weary of boys like Steve. Good looking boys. The popular type with the enviable upbringing. _A cliche._ That’s what she had called him the other day and what she initially first thought about him when they met a few months ago, but she’s not so sure anymore. Max figured she shouldn’t have been so quick to judge. She of all people should know that people put up fronts. Especially people who wanted to look like hot shit compared to everyone else. And if Steve’s house was any indicator, then she figured that his parents and her’s must be kinda similar in that way.

Max turned off the mixer. “How come you know how to cook? Did your mom teach you?” she started conversationally, reaching across the counter for another egg.

“I’ve picked up some things from her, I guess.” Steve shrugged before using the knife to slide the cubed pieces of bread from the cutting board and into another ceramic bowl. “It’s mostly just from cookbooks and shit though. Just following a recipe...”

After making quick work of cracking the last egg, without prompting, Steve tossed her the towel and she wiped the bit of eggy membrane from off her hands. She then flung the towel back over his shoulder. Steve gave her an annoyed look. 

“What?” she asked innocently. “I’m assuming you’re changing.” she said in her defense with a quick look to his plain_‘Hawkins Basketball’_ long sleeve.

“Still don’t appreciate being the human towel rack.” Steve grunted as he turned around and went into one of the like, thirty drawers and returned with a can opener. “But yeah, you’re definitely the smartest out of the shits, that’s for sure...” he muttered.

“I think the nerd club would strongly debate that.” Max commented. Besides, if they didn’t, their grades sure would.

Steve _pffft’d._ “They’re book smart. Which is great and all, but street smarts are _waayy_ more practical, if you ask me.” he argued as he rummaged through a grocery bag and pulled out a large can with a shiny blue label.

Max paused. “You think I’m street smart?”

“Red, you _ooze_ street smarts.” Steve emphasized as he picked up the can opener once more. “You’re observant as hell, remembering all the shit I tell you to when those guys couldn’t even mix sugar and butter together. And need I mention the Junkyard incident, where Lucas literally tried using a screen door as a reinforcement against monster hellhounds?” and Max couldn’t help her breathy laugh at that reminder... It was even funnier now that she knew that they _weren’t_ trying to prank her. 

Steve, noticing her reaction, flashed her a knowing smirk before he continued, “I said it before and I’ll say it again now; you were the most help that day, random girl. Even if you didn’t believe us, you still went to town, effort-wise. You’re persistent as hell too, since you annoyed your way into their little nerd troop and all. Though your driving leaves a lot to be desired.”

Max couldn’t help the warm feeling that caused the corners of her mouth to twitch up, wanting to pull into a wide, pleased smile. But she could keep it from showing. She never thought she’d get praised like this before. Certainly not by a boy like Steve Harrington. “Can I tell you something else I noticed?” she began, feeling as if she were given an opening she would be very unlikely to ever get again.

“Shoot.” Steve agreed as he lined the can opener up to the rim of the container. 

Max, in the most neutral tone she could manage, stated, “I think you don’t like that _Wham!_ song because it hits too close to home.” just as the speakers in the living room started blaring a loud melody.

Max wasn’t sure exactly what happened, but Steve sort of, twitched - jerked - and then let out a surprised yelp when the sharpened wheel of the can opener slipped from the rim of the can and clamped into his hand.

“_Shit!_” both Max and Steve cried out at the same time, their voices drowned out by the energetic riffs of the song Dustin and Lucas chose to blast at that exact moment.

Steve quickly released the self-locking mechanism on the can opener and threw it on the counter in an erratic motion, Max paling as blood splattered along with the tool as it clattered noisily.

“_Sonuvbitch!_” Steve cursed as he grabbed onto his hand in pain, blood rolling down his palm and past his wrist, dyeing his grey _rolled up_ sleeves a dark red. He went for the towel still slung over his shoulder and that’s when Max jumped into action.

“Idiot! Don’t use that, it’s filthy!” she ordered as she grabbed onto the forearm of his bleeding hand and yanked it away from his own reach. “Here, lemme see it.” she muttered as she pulled his injured hand into view. 

There was a giant, bloody gash running diagonally down his palm. The edge of his hand, the space between his pinky and wrist, seemed to be where the can opener clamped down, the skin being sliced open here. The graze on his palm was bloody, but thankfully shallow and the part that was clamped looked to be thankfully untorn, just pierced through.

_Alright. This was fine._ She didn’t need to panic. She’s handled stuff way worse than this like, hundreds of times. If she just kept telling herself that, then she’d keep calm, which would keep Steve calm.

“Come here, we gotta stop the bleeding.” Max began as she tugged Steve over to the sink by his arm, the older teen stumbling over his own feet as she lead him along. Max then turned the faucet to a mildly hot setting, letting the water run for a few seconds before testing it. _Good enough,_ she decided as she pulled Steve’s arm into the sink, letting the warm water wash over his bloody hand, the water running pink into the basin below. “Keep it there.” she ordered as she let go. “You have a first aid kit?”

“Top cabinet. Third from the sink.” Steve rattled off, oddly quiet as he eyed Max strangely.

Figuring he was just in shock or something, Max followed Steve’s directions to what had to have been the Harrington’s medicine cabinet, the thing stock piled with all kinds of products from store bought cough and cold syrup to what looked like orange prescription pharmaceutical bottles. But there, on the bottom shelf of the cabinet was what she was looking for. A little plastic box with a red cross on the front. She grabbed it - only having to reach up slightly on her toes - and then after noticing a familiar dark brown bottle, she grabbed that too, for good measure.

She placed both items on a clean surface of the island and when she returned to the sink, Steve was still holding his hand under the stream but his gaze was directed to the doorway, where the music continued to play. Their little horror show had apparently gone unnoticed.

_“...more look and I forget everything, woah  
Mamma mia, here I go again...”_

“Is that…” Max trailed, recognizing the melody.

“_The bastards…_” Steve cursed through clenched teeth which Max was sure was because of rage as much as it was pain.

Max clicked her tongue in disdain. She was sure the idiots put that album on just to mess with Steve but clearly, they didn’t know how well it’d work.

She then looked back to the sink, where she found a clean dish towel folded nearby. She picked it up, turning the faucet off before she grabbed Steve’s arm again.   
Blood started to pool again, so Max placed the towel over his palm and then pulled Steve over to one of the island’s stools.

“Sit.” she instructed.

“Max, it’s fine. It’s just a—”

“Sit. Down.” she repeated and with a petulant look, Steve perched himself in the stool. Satisfied, Max pulled the nearest stool a little closer and hoisted herself into it. She then carefully peeled the towel back and took a look. The gash traveled the width of his palm, but the open cut looked to be about an inch long, maybe shorter. The cut was bleeding still, but the flow from the gash was already starting to stop, the skin only splattered with a few gathering droplets. It just looked angry and raw, but nothing too concerning. And like she noticed before, the part of his hand that was sandwiched by the two blades looked like it wasn’t that serious. Painful, but not too serious. At least she thought so.

“It’s not too bad.” she observed.

Steve scoffed. “I could’ve told you that.”

“Well, sorry if I don’t trust your first aid, Mr. puts-a-dirty-towel-onto-a-bleeding-wound.” she snarked back as she turned the towel over to a non-blood soaked area and doused it in the rubbing alcohol she retrieved. Then without further pause, she wiped it along his palm.  
Steve jerked before he went stock still. Glancing up, Max saw his grimace, but other than his initial smothered sound of pain, he offered no other noise of complaint while she worked.

“Sorry.” Max still apologized.

“Don’t be. It’s fine.” Steve assured as Max pulled away, placing another non-alcohol covered part of the towel back over the cut, which Steve helpfully took over holding as she began to go through the first aid kit.

As she riffled through the box noticing it was oddly...empty, she shot Steve a look, which she would later deny was one of concern. “You don’t seem all that freaked out.” she observed.

Steve shot her a look of his own. “I think you of all people should know that I’ve had worse.”

Oh, she recalled vividly.

“Yeah. I know.” she answered a bit defensively. She looked back to the box and found some bandages and a more than half-used roll of gauze. It would have to do. “I don’t think you need stitches.” she said, quickly taking the opportunity for a subject change.

“Too bad. That would’ve been the icing on the shitty cake, huh?” Steve joked with a wry grin.  
Max just shot him a glare as she used a band-aid to cover the cut and close the skin together as best as she could. Steve’s look sobered as it pinched in pain. “Sorry.”

Max just hummed as she placed the gauze in his palm and wrapped the rest of it around his hand, using some more band-aids to tape it in place, making sure it wasn’t too tight, but not too loose. For good measure, she covered the gauze wrap in another layer of actual bandage. Hopefully the blood wouldn’t soak through too much and would stop bleeding soon.

“You’re...weirdly good at this, Red…” Steve trailed, voice coated with a clear amount of trepidation, as if he were cautiously approaching a cornered animal.

“I skate.” she answered without hesitation, as if that was all the answer he needed. Because really, he didn’t need to know that sometimes at the skatepark in California, when she failed to manage a trick and ended up falling painfully on her ass, instead of going crying to Mom - which is exactly what all the boys who would used to pick on her wanted - she learned to suck it up and dress her own hurts because Mom’s solution would’ve been to just stop skating. Or the other truth that her stepbrother got knocked around too much by his dad but wouldn’t admit it and Max used to sometimes help patch him up, which were some of the only times they’ve ever been non-hostile towards one another.

“Uh-huh.” Steve voiced, sounding entirely unconvinced. “You sure it’s not...” Steve started before he cut himself off. He pulled a face, as if he were deciding something. Probably his next words. Then, tentatively, he trailed, “Your...Billy, he doesn’t...Y’know…?”

“No.” Max answered a bit too hastily. “No. I know it...It probably doesn’t mean a lot to somebody who literally got their face beat in by him—”

“_Thanks for the reminder._”

“—but he’s not like that. He...He breaks _things_ when he’s angry, not people. At least, I thought so. Until that time with Lucas and you.” she admitted, eyes glazing over a little as she thought back. “That was the first time I’ve ever seen him get like that. It was like something snapped.”

She once thought Billy and herself were similar, with one parent each who couldn’t stick it out and didn’t bother to take their kid with them. Two troubled kids thrown into the deep end and told to sink or swim. 

Actually, when she thought of her and Billy’s situation, for some reason, she always thought of it like they were swimming, or rather, not swimming, but that they were both stuck in a shitty situation. Like they were on a sandbank, one step away from becoming instantly neck deep in shit, from inhaling too much seawater and being unable to resurface. But that night at the Byers, Max realized that she’s always been closer to shore than Billy’s been. She’s always had the chance to just...just catch a wave and ride it back in. But Billy that night, it was like he stepped off the sandbar in the opposite direction of shore, right into the deep end with no way back, fighting against the waves, thrashing wildly and not being scared but...thrilled by it all. By the opportunity to sink and go down with a _fight._ A fight he brought on by himself.

“He breaks things…” Steve repeated, freeing Max from her thoughts. “Like your skateboard?”

Her head snapped up to look at him. “How’d you know my skateboard’s broken?”

“Red, please. I drive you shits around like everyday. I have eyes.” Steve huffed, sounding mildly offended. “Plus, it’s been in my freakin’ trunk for like, a month now.”

“Shit.”

Steve gave another laugh at her eloquent comment, this one lacking any trace of humor at all. “Yeah. Shit.”

They sat in heavy silence after that, the only sound being the record still playing and Dustin and Lucas’ indistinct chatter from rooms away. Then, suddenly, Steve spoke up again, “Look, Red. If Billy...If he ever ‘snaps’ like he did that night - if he snaps on _you_ then just...Just promise me that you’d tell somebody. It doesn’t have to be me—”

“No.” she started, Steve shooting her a confusingly offended - _hurt_ \- look. “No. I mean, I think I’d tell you if he did.” she clarified and surprisingly, she realized that she wasn’t just saying that to make Steve feel better or anything. If something like, like _that_ ever happened, she couldn’t go to her mom because it’d just ruin the little fantasy she had created and she couldn’t go to Neil for obvious reasons, and the guys wouldn’t understand but Steve...Steve knew better than anyone what an unchained Billy was like.

And, not that she’d ever admit this, but Dustin kinda had it right. Going to Steve when you needed help, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. As bossy and as annoying as he got sometimes, when she was around him, she felt the kind of sense of safety that a dad or an older brother was supposed to give you. The way she thought Billy was supposed to make her feel when she found out she was losing a dad but gaining a big brother. The way she _wanted_ Billy to make her feel. 

_Safe. Protected. Cared about._

“Sorry about the skateboard.” Max spoke up again, desperate for a subject change when she noticed Steve’s happy - _he was clearly happy_ \- smile. “I can take it home with me later.”

“Nah, get it whenever. No skin off my back.” Steve dismissed before he rose from the stool and then inspected his hand. “Shit. This is just gonna make things even more of a bitch to finish…”

“Shouldn’t be a problem though, right? It’s not like working with a handicap’s anything new to you.” Max posed from her seat, Steve turning his attention back to her, looking confused. “Trek through monster tunnels with a concussion aside, I take it you also hurt yourself in the kitchen a lot.”

Steve looked hilariously startled. “What gave you that idea?”

Now it was Max’s turn to be petulant. “Because I have eyes too. Your hands are covered in scars. Old scars.” she noted. 

They were all over his hands and a little bit up his arms, minuscule marks you could only see up close. Random patches of discolored skin in various stages of life. Some looking like they were from years ago, others looking like they were from maybe only a few weeks ago.   
She continued, “I think you’re just accident prone, what with how jumpy you are and all—”

“_Hey._ I’m not—”

“—but you’d tell me if someone was hurting _you,_ right?” Max continued bluntly. She’s already noted that their families were kind of similar. She just wanted to make sure they weren’t similar in _that_ regard. “‘Cause this has gotta be a two-way street or it’s nothing at all.” she stated with a gesture between the two of them. 

Steve then shot her a half-assed grin and answered, “Kid, the only one hurting me is myself. Which is kinda like the standard for me.”

She narrowed her eyes, not dissuaded in the slightest. “You still haven’t learned to patch yourself up properly though, which isn’t really surprising.” Max noted again, taking another look at his hands, which Steve jerked out of her grasp, self consciously. “Why keep cooking if you suck at it so much?”

“First of all, just because I’m ‘accident prone’ - your words, not mine - doesn’t mean I ‘suck’. I’m pretty decent at it, f-y-i.” Steve said testily as he went over to the sink and retrieved his watch from the window ledge above it. “And second, I cook just ‘cause, y’know, I like to eat.” he shrugged as he looked down to his watch, losing all the gusto he had started with and wasn’t that a bullshit excuse if Max has ever heard one. 

Steve clearly wasn’t telling her the whole truth. Maybe not even part of it. But why would a guy like Steve take up _cooking_ as a hobby?

_“...Now you live on your own  
Hey, hey Helen  
Can you make it alone?”_

_Of-fucking-course,_ Max then realized with an embarrassing sense of sudden clarity. The chorus of the next song on the record had just handed her the real answer on a silver platter;

Steve cooked because he was alone all the time. _Duh._

She was pretty damn sure that the Harringtons had more than enough money for Steve to order out, but she knew from experience that even that got old after a while. Max practically lived off take-out and fast food when her parents were splitting, both being the only options they provided when they were too burdened by the divorce to come up with anything else. She was sick of the stuff after only a week. And that was in crowded California. How many options could there be in _Hawkins?_ How many years did Steve force himself to scarf down pre-made meals before he decided to make some for himself?

“Shit, if we weren’t behind before, we sure as hell are now.” Steve cursed, drawing Max back down to earth again. He was still looking down at his watch.

Steve did a lot for other people, Max realized. He helped them hunt down lost pets that happened to be monsters. He defended them from said pet-monsters. He defended them from human, mullet-wearing monsters. He drove them around when their other options came in the form of shitty douchebags and oblivious parents. He decided to cook a whole-ass meal for them when they wanted to have a good, safe Christmas party for their friends who went through absolute hell on a yearly basis. 

He wasn’t a selfish douchebag like those cliche, entitled rich boys. He was just _Steve._ And Steve deserved better than to mutilate himself because he was consistently ignored by his shitty-seeming parents.

“Okay.” Max stated grandly, hopping down from her seat. Steve looked to her curiously. “Then from here on out, I’ll be taking over as head chef. That makes you sous chef.” she stated, resolutely placing the hand mixer in his uninjured palm. 

Steve raised an incredulous brow. “You know how to glaze and cook a ham? Stuff and base a turkey?” 

“Sure it can’t be that hard if you can manage it.” Max merely shrugged.

Steve’s lip curled up in a sneer and with one last final glare at his useless hand, he groaned frustratedly. “_Fine._ Have it your way, Mayfield. You can take lead. But you better listen to every goddamn word I say because if this house burns down or you go home to your mom more damaged than when you got here, there’s gonna be hell to pay and I’ll be damned if I’m the one paying.” he threatened before he gingerly placed his watch back down on the window sill. “Get the ham out of the fridge. And that bowl, that’s the glaze.”

“Yes, chef.” Max droned before going to do just that.

If life wanted to keep throwing these situations Max’s way then, whatever. She could ride this wave. Maybe even enjoy it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *For inspiration for the layout of Steve’s house, I watched a great [Sims 4 build video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDZOzVsOSlM) by Looly Loo on YouTube. I found the channel on a whim when looking for references of Steve’s house and just oof, this creator’s mind. They're soooo talented and I really enjoyed their commentary. Check out their stuff!
> 
> *[Pineapple souffle](https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/152677/pineapple-bread-souffle/) is sooo good, especially as a side dish for ham at a big dinner! It’s also relatively easy to make. 
> 
> *The ABBA album that Lucas and Dustin put on was their 1975 aptly named _ABBA_ album.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are super appreciated!


	3. Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the partygoers arrive and Max comes to some conclusions regarding their host.

Once the blood had been wiped up, the surfaces properly sterilized, and Steve promptly changed out of his stained shirt and into appropriate party attire, the rest of the preptime was actually pretty chill.

Despite her earlier complaints, Max had to admit, it was nice to have something to occupy herself with, even if it meant having to help Steve out in the kitchen. He really knew what he was doing, more or less, only having to glance at the cookbooks laid out on the countertop a couple of times. And since he was down a limb, Max finished things up pretty much on her own (with Steve of course peering over her shoulder from time to time like the mother hen that he was).

Max hadn’t really given cooking or baking or anything like that much thought before - or like any. Her mom always used to try to get her into it, before she gave up on trying to get her to have more ‘appropriate’ interests for a girl her age. Part of the reason Max hated the little lessons - besides the obvious implication that Mom thought her other interests were somehow wrong - was because Mom always instructed her in a way that felt like it was an obligation. Like it was something that Max _had_ to learn and it was something that her mom _had_ to teach her. 

But with Steve, it just felt like...advice or something. Like hanging out. Like he was teaching her how to do these things because he wanted to. Like he was glad that Max was helping him. Glad that she wanted to listen. 

And hanging out with him was admittedly pretty nice. Steve was a chatterbox, a fact that she was kinda already aware of (via Dustin) but hadn’t really experienced before. Whenever he drove them, he was always pretty quiet, letting the radio and the Party’s chatter fill up the car (unless he had to chew them out for something, of course).

Their conversation didn’t get nearly as heavy as it had before, but it wasn’t super dull or ever feel forced or anything. Steve told little anecdotes about his other cooking blunders, talked sports, even asked Max about skateboarding and life in Cali. And surprisingly enough, Max chatted back. It got awkward at some points, yeah, but it wasn’t unbearable. Not like cooking with Mom.

So, yeah. It was nice hanging out with Steve and just zoning out. It was like they were both just, relaxing. Letting their guards down, so to speak, because they didn’t have to worry about putting up a tough front or anything. They didn’t have to act like anything that they were doing was beneath them. 

Max wasn’t the girl who had to know everything there was about cooking. She didn’t have to make all the desserts or only mix things up or some shit. It might sound stupid, that something as basic as stuffing a turkey or carving a ham had made her feel so validated, but it did.

And Steve, well, he was fully breaking away from his cliche roll as he let the 13 year old take charge with little to no complaint. Reading ‘girly’ cookbooks and offering instruction as if he were a seasoned PTA, bake sale veteran and not some meatheaded teen jock.

It was refreshing, for the both of them. At least, Max felt like it was. 

_So_ refreshing that they both completely lost track of time and before they knew it, the sound of the front doorbell was reverberating throughout the house. A quick glance to Steve’s watch confirmed that it was already a little after four and the early birds had just arrived, to which Steve issued an explicit complaint as he looked to the timer they had set for the food still in the oven. With his good hand, he opened the oven door and peered inside, the definition of tense as he jammed the thermometer into the turkey.

Dustin loudly yelled that he _‘GOT IT’,_ apparently having had placed himself on door duty for the evening. As he offered some muffled, enthusiastic greetings to whoever had arrived, Max heard who could’ve only been Lucas change the Spingsteen album he had playing back over to the Christmas station.

_”—sents and cards are here_   
_My world is full with cheer and you…”_

That was right, Max thought as she looked up from the pan of veggies Steve had her ‘sauteing’. With all this prep, Max had blissfully forgotten all about the gift exchange she’d been dreading all week. She hated how stupidly stressed it was making her. It was just a present. 

_But its a present for El,_ a traitorous internal voice reminded her, _who doesn’t like you._

Before she could overthink it any more, the tell-tale twin clicks of nice, high quality shoes were the only warning the two cooks received before in walked the Wheelers, who were as much of a spectacle as ever.

Mike’s expression looked like whatever the exact antonym of ‘jolly’ was and Max found some solace in knowing that apparently she wasn’t the only one whose mom had forced them into an outfit that they hated. He was also carrying two stacked cases of what could’ve only been two wholeass fruit cakes. 

His sister - the badass chick who had the shotgun that night at the Byers’, Max recalled - was carrying two covered trays. She was also dressed very nicely in a pair of short heeled shoes, a pristine off-white and vibrant red dress, flattering makeup, and what looked like a fresh perm. She looked nice and unlike Max, she looked comfortable with it too. 

Both of the Wheelers had stopped in the doorway. Mike’s sister - Nancy, Max was pretty sure - looked with wide eyes at the mess in the kitchen before her gaze landed on Max and Steve, somehow getting wider when she took in just _who_ she was seeing and _what_ they were doing.

“What the hell?” Mike voiced for the two of them, confused scowl on his face. 

Dustin then popped up from behind the two and smiled. “Told ya.” he said smugly before he vanished again, no doubt going back to join Lucas in whatever they were doing in the living room.

If at all possible, Mike’s scowl deepened. “Weird.”

Steve shut the oven door closed pointedly. “_What’s_ weird, Wheeler?”

“You’re cooking.” answered the wrong Wheeler in amazement, gaining everyone’s attention. Nancy blinked, as if surprised she had voiced the thought out loud. “I mean. Not that it’s weird. It’s just, I didn’t believe it, I guess…” she quickly explained with a somewhat breathy laugh and a shrug.

That surprised Max. From what she knew, Steve and this girl used to date. He cooked for a couple of middle schoolers but never his girlfriend? _That_ was what was weird, she thought as she flicked the burner off and hefted the saucepan over to a cooler surface.

“Gee, thanks, Nance.” Steve deadpanned as he leant on the countertop. “But Red’s done most of the work.” he continued, giving Max a playfully rough nudge. She then shoved him right back, way harsher and causing his elbows to slip from the countertop. Steve just barely stopped himself from slamming into the granite and then muttered something colorful in Max’s direction. Max just smiled at Nancy innocently.

Nancy smiled back at her, still clearly confused but no less polite. “That’s nice. Max, right?” she asked a little awkwardly, but Max didn’t really blame her. They didn’t really know each other. The older girl’s eyes then darted to Steve’s wrapped hand and back up to Max, her skills of observation apparently as keen as the teen detective she shared a name with. Her smile turned the slightest bit strained. Worried. “Keeping a close eye on him?” she asked evenly, at least seeming to know that her ex was a major klutz, Max thought.

“Against my will.” she instead replied nonchalantly, Steve voicing some kind of disagreeing, offended sound. “I think it’s been proven that supervision is necessary for him. _Somebody’s_ gotta do it.” Max continued with a shrug with a pointed look in the older girl’s direction.

Nancy then quickly looked away, as if properly scolded.

_Good,_ Max thought. 

It was a little nasty of her, yeah. But Max was certain that this was _Last Christmas_ girl she was dealing with. She felt like a sly comment was warranted. 

“No kiddin’.” Mike agreed, loudly depositing the fruit cake containers onto the counter next to the other desserts, breaking the slightly tense silence that had fallen.

“No one asked you, Wheeler.” Steve groused. “And you,” he said, turning towards Max, expression reading clear betrayal, pointing at her accusingly and everything. “I thought we had something special here? And then you go and betray me like this?”

Max snickered. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Mike muttered before he froze, as if realizing he had just spoken out loud. Apparently, losing ahold of your thoughts via your mouth was a Wheeler family trait.

Max’s smile soon fell.

“_Mike._” Nancy said in a mix between a gasp and a hiss.

Steve spun on his heel and looked at Mike, the closest descriptor for the look on his face being...not amused. “That’s it. Outta my kitchen.” he ordered in a bark, even going so far as to pick up a wooden spoon and wave it threateningly in Mike’s direction. It was so outlandish, yet such a normal, Steve-reaction to the bullshit that the Party spouted on a constant basis that the awkward, heavy mood dissipated almost immediately. 

Upon realizing that Steve had apparently taken no real offense to the comment, Mike deflated, as if relieved. He cleared his throat. “Ss—_Whatever._” he spat, cutting himself off (Max was pretty sure it was supposed to be an apology, but she couldn’t say she was surprised that he didn’t voice it). 

Maybe Max would’ve found Mike’s comment funny once. But after spending the afternoon with Steve, it...didn’t feel right to. It felt like a betrayal, funnily enough.

“Come on, Dungeon Doofus.” Max evenly called in Mike’s direction, taking one out of Steve’s book and exuding normalness as she made her way to the doorway. “I’ll show you where the rest of the dorks are.”

“Are we dorks of doofuses?” Mike asked indignantly as he started following after her, seeming relieved at the dismissal, but annoyed at the remark. 

“You’re Doofus Prime, clearly.” Max said matter-of-factly. 

“Really? A _Transformers_ reference?” Mike scoffed.

“I have no idea what that is, doofus.” she feigned. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Mike bit out, Max smirking victoriously. He was too easy sometimes “Where are the others? This place is a labyrinth. You _need_ a guide.”

“Living room.” Steve grunted just as they crossed the kitchen threshold. “And all I hear is that you’re jealous, Wheeler.” he shot back irritatedly, settling himself onto one of the island’s barstools.

“As if.” Mike scoffed before he trudged ahead of Max, the racket Dustin and Lucas were making guiding him to them easily. As Max watched him go, his head was downcast, as if weighed down by a guilty conscience. Not that he’d ever admit it, but Max bet that he did have one. As much as she’s grown to like Mike, sometimes he didn’t know when to shut his big mouth. 

Max then heard the sound of heels clicking against tile and she found herself stopping in her tracks, as if not on her own accord.

“Sorry about him.” she heard Nancy begin apologetically at a low volume, along with the sound of her placing whatever she was carrying on the counter. Max found herself lingering near the doorway to the kitchen, out of sight, her curiosity getting the better of her and causing her to stall. “He really didn’t mean—” Nancy continued, sounding genuinely guilty before Steve cut her off.

“Don’t worry about it, Nance.” he dismissed, as if it didn’t bother him at all. “He’s a kid. Do you know how mean middle schoolers are? I’m used to it at this point. Besides, you’re the one who’s gotta live with one of the little bastards full-time. I’m sure you’ve heard worse.”

Nancy hummed in thought and was then quiet for a short moment, her expression probably doubtful. When she heard Nancy’s heels clicking softly again, traveling even further into the kitchen, Max dared a look.

Nancy had wandered over to where Steve sat, staring straight at him, and though all Max could see was the back of her head, she could almost read the older girl’s mannerism. She seemed indecisive about something. Steve merely stared back at her, clearly confused and curious, but the picture of patient.

Nancy turned her head away for a moment before she soon looked back, as if she had finally decided upon something. She then brought up one of her perfectly manicured hands (of course) and cupped the back of Steve’s head. Silently, she gently pulled him down and turned his head, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. It was brief, the kiss, spanning a shorter amount of time than it took to initiate it, but Max didn’t imagine that it was any less heavy. As Nancy pulled away, she said in a voice so soft that it was nearly a whisper, “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

The look on Steve’s face was one of pure bafflement with underlying hints of hurt, but it was also so tragically happy that Max wanted to _scream._

In that moment, Max decided that she may be the one with the crazy evil step-family, but it was the Wheelers who were _heinous._

Nancy was awkwardly frozen for a moment as Steve openly gaped at her, big dopey eyes not getting any un-Bambi-like. Nancy then slowly pulled her hand away, as if just now realizing that what she just did was _colossally dumb._

But then Steve _smiled_ at her, with the softest, dopiest expression of all, and in his own quiet voice answered back, “Merry Christmas, Nance.”

Max then moved away from the doorway, resting her back against its same wall, a little...disturbed at what she just saw. Though she didn’t have long to contemplate it because then the doorbell rang again and Dustin was again screaming at the top of his lungs, _”I got it!”_

“That must be the Byers.” Max heard Steve comment as his stool noisily scraped against the floor. “Don’t think the Chief would view this level of darkness as acceptable cover.”

Nancy then gave a light, lyrical laugh, sounding grateful for the subject change. “I think you’re right.”

“Help me clear some space, would you?” Steve requested as he began to noisily move some stuff around, out of the way. “I bet your ass your boyfriend’s mom felt like she had to double up on food because she didn’t trust the Chief—”

Then Max didn’t have the heart to listen anymore and turned away, following the music down the hall.

She didn’t understand Steve. She didn’t get why he was so nice to people he didn’t have any kind of allegiance to, who did hurtful things to him without meaning to. She didn’t get why he let people walk all over him. Why he left himself wide open to this kind of shit.

He was supposed to be the dumb jock who didn’t give a shit about anybody else but himself. 

So why did it seem like almost the exact opposite was true?

* * *

_”Have yourself a merry little Christmas_   
_Let your heart be light_   
_Next year all our troubles will be out of sight...”_

The Byers arrived all as one family unit and as per Steve’s prediction, Mrs. Byers’ brought over a boatload of what looked like mostly store bought food and treats. She herself carried a tray of something that looked home cooked while Will had _two_ cameras on his person. His brother - Nancy’s boyfriend - was the one carrying all the shopping bags.

Mrs. Byers seemed like a reserved sort of woman, quiet but kind. She also seemed completely unbothered by other’s opinions of her, in a good sort of way - unlike Max’s mom. The whole ‘dealing-with-interdimensional-bullcrap-on-a-yearly-basis’ aside, she was just always dressing comfortably, and Max admired her for it, as dumb as it sounded. She was always wearing stuff that looked a couple sizes too big and her hair always looked a bit unkempt yet natural, as if she just brushed it and was satisfied without having to use any fancy products - again, unlike Max’s mom. Christmas parties - apparently - were no exception to this lifestyle choice, which Max thought was totally rad.

Max lead Mrs. Byers and Will’s brother into the kitchen and what followed next was pretty amazing to behold.

“Holy crap, honey.” Mrs. Byers breathed out in a rush, staring at Steve and practically every corner of the room in awe. “This is spectacular. Did you make all this food yourself? Your house is so...big.” she finally finished, seeming to catch herself rambling.

“It’s my parents’ place, technically, but thanks, I guess.” Steve said in that totally un-Steve like way, the one that made him seem embarrassed. But as usual, he seemed to quickly recover. “And me, holy crap? I’m not the one who robbed the store.” he commented with a gesture to Will’s brother.

Mrs. Byers huffed a laugh. “Oh, you know. Just one of the perks of working in a store that overstocks. Especially this time of year.”

“I guess. But you really didn’t have to bother...” Steve insisted before his gaze wandered over to one quiet, stock-still figure who had yet to be addressed or do so in return. “Jonathan, man, you find a free surface, take it.” Steve laughed at the expense of the said, clearly overloaded boy.

The speed at which Jonathan then took the most direct route to the little kitchen table was pretty comical, heavily depositing all the bags onto the it in any way that they fit, which ended up being quite the noisy task. “Sorry.” he said to seemingly anybody, clearly relieved to be relieved of his burden. 

“Didn’t the boys tell you that they divvied up all the dishes, Joyce?” Nancy asked as she clicked her way over, an amused smile on her face. “I thought you agreed to just bring an appetizer platter?”

“Yeah, well, it is a big group and it really wasn’t any trouble. It was all discounted anyway and on top of my employee discount...” Mrs. Byers rambled on again, seemingly embarrassed. “But I’m not the one who should be nagged to about going overboard.” she quickly pointed out before she turned to one figure in particular. “Steve, sweetie, I meant what I said. This is spectacular. Not just the pretty impressive spread you’ve seemed to have whipped up, but just doing this for the kids in general. It’s just so nice. I don’t know any other way to put it, but...thank you. This is _so_ nice. Wonderful. Just what the doctor ordered.” she said with a smile and such genuine kindness that everyone - chiefest of all Steve - seemed to be stuck staring at her, baffled over the levels of sincerity and sweetness that this seasoned trauma-vet could reach.

She then went and topped it all off by pulling Steve into a _hug,_ the pair looking utterly bizarre as Steve towered over her and looked visibly unsure of where to put his hands before eventually settling for the much shorter woman’s shoulders. 

“N-No pro-blem.” Steve practically croaked and Max nearly burst out laughing over the sight of such a flustered Steve. She’s never seen him look so sheepish, so out of depth before, but leave it to Mrs. Byers to get such a reaction out of him. 

Though Max apparently wasn’t the only one to find the whole scenario funny, as Nancy had on quite the amused look, white teeth flashing and eyes squinting in mirth due to the force of her grin. Even Jonathan was giving the other boy what Max guessed to be a sympathetic look.

“Mom…” he trailed in what had to be a tone of fond embarrassment that only a mom such as Joyce Byers could summon.

“Oh, I know, I know. _How embarrassing._” said woman laughed in a mocking tone as she finally freed Steve from her clutches. “But I mean it, sweetie.” she reiterated, holding Steve at an arm’s length. “Thank you.” she repeated, giving his shoulders a squeeze.

Steve, still absolutely rigid with shock, gave one final huff, clearing his throat before he finally answered back, “You’re welcome, Mrs. Byers.”

“Joyce.” Mrs. Byers insisted with what had to be her faux version of sterness, pointing a finger at Steve and everything. She only says ‘faux’ because Max had seen the real version of this woman’s wrath and it was _scary._

Steve apparently realized this too, as he finally seemed to deflate and with a properly chided but appreciative look amended, “You’re welcome, Joyce.”

Joyce smiled back, properly pleased and finally released him and soon she was setting to work, getting dishes heated up, the tables set, the whole shabang.

As Max watch her do so, she couldn’t help but think again about how much she admired this lady.

This woman…_this_ Joyce, was so different than the solemn, sad, yet fiercely determined one that Max had first met at the Byers’ home all those weeks ago, that Max had no doubt that she had meant every single word that she had said to Steve, with the whole of her heart. She recognized what he was doing and appreciated it beyond belief, even going so far as to make sure that he knew it.

_Well good,_ Max thought. _It was about time that somebody did._

* * *

True to his word, the police chief and El didn’t arrive until well after sunset, basically 30 minutes after everybody else did. Hopper trudged off to the kitchen upon Mrs. Byers’ insistence that he ‘give poor Steve a break and help out’ and so, Steve was banished from the kitchen and Max went along with him because she had long since decided that whatever kinda cosmic luck that was following the older teen around lately was way more interesting than any of the other debacles that might occur tonight, Hopper’s attempts at cooking included.

Steve muttered something about starting a fire and disappeared out the sliding doors and to the back patio. She figured that that journey would eventually lead to the living room, where she remembered seeing a fireplace, so Max wandered into there, despite her prior decision to tail him. She figured Steve could do whatever task he needed to on his own for now because he went out without a coat and Max wasn’t that desperate for entertainment. Winter in a place that had _actual_ seasons was _damn cold._

Besides, it was about time she stopped avoiding what she had been dreading all night.

It was time to interact with El.

When she finally made it into the living room, Max saw that someone had brought over all the guys’ D&D stuff and they were apparently in the middle of a campaign that she vaguely recognized as the one from last week. But they seemed to have stopped, sprawled out on the floor as they were loudly discussing something over the music and the sound of the TV.

“There you are!” Dustin exclaimed upon seeing her, causing everyone to look up at her too. Max wanted to punch him right in his big mouth because all she could then feel was El’s scrutinizing gaze on her, which only got more intense as she gave Max as once over. 

It was intimidating, but Max kept it cool and sat down, folding her legs underneath her while internally cursing the dress her mom made her wear for the umpteenth time that day, this time because it didn’t allow her to sit comfortably. 

“Merry Christmas.” El deadpanned to Max, positively shocking Max to her core. Besides the initial startlement of being directly address by her, Max had no idea that such an innocent greeting could sound so threatening. 

“Uh, Merry Christmas.” Max returned, kinda upset at herself for letting the cracks in her resolve show. She couldn’t help it. El was damn confusing.

As if to further prove her point, the girl then gave Max another once over and said rather begrudgingly, “You look pretty.” as if she didn’t even want to admit it.

“Uh. Thanks.” Max grunted. “So do you?” she offered when she took her turn to give the other girl a once over, taking in her slightly swoopy hair, subtle makeup, and the single most hideous Christmas sweater Max had ever seen, complete with stitched reindeer, a rosy cheeked Santa, and a goddamn top hat-wearing snowman. It gave Dustin’s a run for its money, in terms of looking like an elf barfed on it.

“Thank you.” El said back, as if it were an automatic reply.

“Where the hell have you been all night?” Lucas continued, thankfully saving Max from _whatever the hell this interaction was…_

“Being actually useful.” Steve then answered for Max as he loudly deposited a bunch of firewood on floor, positively startlingly everyone (sans El).

Then Mike and Lucas both complained at the same time;

“What an asshole...”

“Are you kidding me?”

“We helped!” Dustin rounded it out, tone insistent. “Lucas and I lugged all this shit down from your stupid four-story house. We even put all the lights and decorations on the goddamn tree and the garland and shit!” he reminded, gesturing around to each completed task pointedly.

Mike turned an incredulous eye Lucas and Dustin’s way. “Steve’s Little Helpers, eh?” he commented, earning a quiet chuckle from Will and a blank, lost look from El.

“Max is the one who spent all afternoon in the kitchen with him.” Lucas said defensively, to which Will and El casted her their own curious looks. 

“Because - once again - you numbnuts were useless in there.” Steve reiterated as he crouched down and moved the decorative-looking metal screen from in front of the fireplace. “Either of you numbnuts know how to make a fire?” he asked, to which both Lucas and Dustin promptly shut their mouths and killed whatever other complaints that they were about to offer. Steve gave them an unimpressed look before he turned back to the empty fireplace. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”

“...I can make a fire?” Will then spoke up, sounding unsure if Steve was actually asking for assistance or just simply making a point.

The answer seemed to be the former as Steve then beckoned him over with a wave of his hand and said, “Thank you, Byers. I always knew you were a cut above the rest.” in a deadpan to which Will gave another breathy laugh as he picked himself up from off the floor and made his way over to the older teen.

“No fair. He literally lives in the woods.” Dustin pointed out petulantly.

“So then maybe go get lost in them and see where that gets you?” Steve suggested as he whipped out a flashlight from seemingly nowhere, handing it to Will before he went and literally stuck his torso into the opening, Dustin’s middle finger no doubt being the last thing that he saw. “Maybe then you’d learn how to do something other than make my electric bill skyrocket.” Steve continued at a louder volume, his voice all echoey from being literally inside the chimney. The Santa comparison was too easy, so Max reigned herself in 

“How the hell am _I_ making your bill skyrocket?” Dustin asked defensively.

Steve then pulled himself out of the fireplace and dramatically looked up to the ceiling, pointing at something out of sight and everyone then followed his gaze only to quiet down enough to hear John Lennon and his belting chorus answer for him; 

_“...so happy Christmas (War is over)_   
_We hope you have fun (If you want it)”_

Steve then promptly pointed over to the TV which offered;

_“...can label it. Are you afraid of responsibility? If you are, then you have hypogeno—”_

“Okay, okay! I see you point.” Dustin finally gave in before he hastily added, “But the TV was El’s idea!”

“She likes it.” Mike quickly came to her defense.

As Will began to stack some of the logs in the fireplace, Steve turned and looked at El, as if to confirm whether or not Dustin was just spouting bullshit.

“Not okay?” El asked, probably sounding more disappointed than she intended to.

“You, kid wonder?” Steve had apparently dubbed her. “You can do anything you want.” he assured matter-of-factly as he turned back to the fireplace.

Dustin and Lucas offered their usual complaints;

“No fair!”

“Why’re you only a dick to us?”

El flashed a hint of a smile, which no doubt kept Mike’s complaints at bay, and Will suspiciously turned his face away from the Party’s line of sight, Max catching a quick glimpse at his amused grin just as he did so.

“Honestly, guys,“ Steve began again, pointedly ignoring their complaints as he inspected Will’s stack-job. “you outnumber the girls 3-to-2 and I’d pick them over you as back-up any day.”

To which Max flashed a prideful grin and El looked what Max guessed to be her version of mildly surprised.

“Uh, you might wanna check your math on that one, Einstein.” Lucas said flatly.

Though Steve remained unperturbed, leaning back on his haunches as he looked over to a confused Will before leaning forward again, setting the pile of logs alight with a lighter. “_He_ doesn’t count. I’m not lumping him in with the ladies but he _definitely_ doesn’t belong in the same category as you boozoos.” he declared and Will’s mildly offended look quickly morphed into one of pleasant surprise.

“Oh, come on!” Dustin groaned loudly, sounding offended. “You barely know Will or El! You and I? We got real history, buddy. What a betrayal this is.”

Mike shot Dustin a look while Max noted with mild interest that he hadn’t included her in that mix.

“I bet you El doesn’t even know his last name.” Lucas added smugly, to which everyone promptly looked to El.

“Just Steve.” she eventually shrugged as if something like a last name was inconsequential. “He gets hurt but still helps.” she elaborated to which everyone burst out laughing. All except Steve, that is, who looked like he was trying very hard to not look offended and El, who seemed confused as to why her deduction was so funny.

“Well, she’s got that right, at least!” Lucas exclaimed with mirth as he struggled to compose himself. “Even she knows it!”

With the now steady blaze as an ominous backlight, Steve turned to Lucas and practically growled, “That’s strike three, Sinclair.” 

“I wasn’t even the one who said it!” Lucas shouted but Max didn’t think that it mattered, because it was true.

She had to hand it to El for such a spot-on Steve analysis. Even though she barely knew the guy, Max thought she had come the closest that any of them would ever come to understanding him as a person.

Steve always stepped it up when the time called for it, even if he seemed to have no business to. And he took countless hits, always paying the price for involving himself personally. But he kept on swinging.

And that, Max agreed, was all that really mattered. That was just the kind of guy that Steve was. He was ‘just Steve’. And ‘just Steve’ was pretty damn cool.

Not that she’d ever say that out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a wait. I had a little trouble with this chapter and then eventually decided to just basically rewrite it, since I was so unhappy with what I had. Also I’ve apparently lied about there being 3 parts. There’ll be 4, as this chapter quickly got away from me with this rewrite…
> 
> Also, can anyone guess what was playing on the TV? :D


	4. Let In Light and Banish Shade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve reflects on the night, as well as some other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe me, no one’s more surprised than I am that I was able to finish this in time for Christmas. Enjoy!

Considering how much he had been dreading the whole night, Steve guessed it really didn’t turn out so bad.

For a party composed of mostly 12-13 year olds, it was pretty fun. Dinner was more than good and contrary to popular belief, all of Steve’s dishes were in fact _edible_ and all the food that everyone else had brought really made for a feast. Steve thought it was the most he’d eaten since he and Nancy used to have dinner with the Hollands…

But there was no reason to be gloomy. This was the best Christmas he’d spent since the Wheelers’ last year. Spending it with Tommy and Carol years prior was usually a much more casual affair. They’d meet up after their own family’s celebration and then come to Steve’s and get drunk off their asses. 

With the Wheelers’, he still missed their big family dinner out of respect - he was sure they didn’t want some random teenager who had been dating their daughter for like a week hanging around all day - but it was nice to be around people and do like, actual holiday things. Like eat together, gather around a fire, exchange actual presents…

Steve guessed that was why he didn’t find the party so terrible.

They listened to the same like, twelve songs the radio station apparently had on repeat, loudly yelling above it and drowning it out anyway with their conversation as they told stories about what they’ve gotten up to in the weeks since...since all that shit went down. 

The whole reason Steve had agreed to this whole night was so the kids could have a normal night. A night to just, be stupid, genius kids. To embrace all that cheesy holiday junk like community and brotherhood and merriment and shit. So these kids could feel normal for one goddamn night. To forget that they nearly saw the end times first hand. Twice, now. To forget that they were possessed, or kidnapped, or tortured, or threatened, or nearly beaten, or nearly eaten, or abandoned...

And, this might just be wishful thinking, but Steve thinks that the night was successful, in that sense.

Dinner was a disaster, as expected, but not because of anything to do with the actual food. Well, that wasn’t really true. It was more so what the kids did with the food. Namely one food.

Lucas kept flinging peas across the table like they were paper footballs, which then inspired Dustin to demonstrate how a spoon used as a catapult was clearly the better dispersion method. Max snidely critiqued their techniques but once again proved herself the smartest by not dirtying her own hands and merely commentated. Will was excellently behaved, _as always,_ Mike rolled his eyes before Nancy could even berate him for even thinking about joining in, and Hopper nearly had an aneurysm when El then proceeded to send a flying vegetable blitz attack straight into Mike’s face without even lifting a finger.

After they had all tore through the dinner like the savage teenagers they all were, Joyce ordered in her kind but surprisingly assertive tone for a swift dining table cleanup and for everyone to help out so it wouldn’t all be left to Steve. Which was met with little to no complaint when she followed it by saying they could do the gift exchange as soon as they were done. 

Which also went leagues better than Steve initially thought it would’ve.

Some notable submissions into the Secret Santa included Hopper’s hilariously accurate _‘Dimension’s Best Dad’_ coffee mug courtesy of Dustin, the ViewMaster Mike had somehow customized to flip between Jonathan’s own photographs, that tape deck and tape collection from Max to El, and the 200-piece art kit that Nancy got for Will. 

Of course, Steve’s own gift was pretty nice to receive, if not a little awkward. It seemed Steve wasn’t the only one who wasn’t on fate’s good side, as Jonathan had ended up being his Secret Santa. Talk about awkward.

Though Steve had to hand it to Jonathan. His gift wasn’t so bad. 

Jonathan had ended up making Steve a mixtape of songs he thought the other might like based off of what the kids told him he listened to in the car. Apparently, he had only approved of Queen and to a lesser extent, Tears for Fears. He also said he wouldn’t budge in his firm stance against Benatar, Hart, and Cougar.

All in all, it was a nice gift. Jonathan hadn’t just thrown down a lot of money and called it a day, like Steve’s response would’ve been (had been). It wasn’t much, upon first glance. It was just a little tape which Steve was sure Jonathan had hundreds of, but he had put a lot of thought into it. A lot of time. A lot of effort. It was personalized. And for that, Steve thought that it was the nicest gift he had ever received. 

Sure, it may have stung his pride a little, just by being from his ex’s current boyfriend and all. But it was something original and thoughtful, which was more than Steve could say about his own gift to Max.

Her face had dropped upon opening the box and whatever nervous feeling that was curling in the pit of Steve’s stomach had then shriveled up to the point where he was sure that he felt actual pain.

But then Max had looked up to him with the most shocked expression he had ever seen on her face (one that wasn’t born from pure, unadulterated terror, that is).

“A...It’s a _Rampage?_” she finally said, brows now drawn together in confusion.

“There’s a _what_ in there?” Hopper had practically grunted, apparently the girl’s sudden change in attitude enough to spark his mild interest, if not pure confusion.

Max then removed the skateboard from the box for all to see. Steve would’ve laughed at the apparent kid geniuses’ quiet _‘ah’s_ upon the realization that there wasn’t like, a raging gorilla in there or something. That is, he would’ve if he didn’t feel like just shooting himself over how stupidly nervous he was.

“Is it not the right kind?” he’d asked her, his tone traitorously hesitant. Maybe the design was a bit much? He wasn’t sure if Max was really a pink kind of girl. He was also kind of a little pissed off. The guy at the store had told him that—

“No, no, it’s one of the best on the market right now.” Max had finished the thought for him, Steve unsure if that was actual awe he was hearing in her voice or just his dumb brain playing more tricks on him. Steve then realized that Max hadn’t yet taken her eyes off the board until she looked up to him and said, “It’s...a lot.”

Steve wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that. Whether she meant in terms of price or just like...consideration. But thankfully, Lucas had then called him something along the lines of ‘Richie Moneybags’ and Steve was able to steer the conversation back into more familiar territory with a verbal jab and the night continued on as expected.

After that, the night had calmed as much as it could’ve with a bunch of 13 year olds.

Hopper and Joyce mostly stuck to themselves, one or the other popping in from whatever room they were hanging out in to check on everyone every now and again. Nancy and Jonathan had snuck off to who-knows-where and Steve didn’t really wanna think about it, so he decided to use the excuse of manning the fire to hang around the kids for the majority of the night. Though the kids brought their weird board game stuff, they resumed their session of sitting around the board and mostly talking nonsense. 

Steve mostly just kept to himself, lazily zoning out in front of the TV and trying not to slip into a food coma as the elf explained to Rudolph his dreams of dentistry. At some point, El had wandered over to join him without his noticing (or Mike’s, for that matter). 

The party was arguing about a Mork-moth or something so loudly that when El eventually spoke up, he’d almost missed it.

“Tape.” she said without having drawn her attention away from the TV. 

Steve really didn’t wanna risk looking dumb in front of probably the coolest person he’s ever known, but he couldn’t help having to smartly ask, “Huh?”

“Tape.” El merely repeated, now pulling her eyes away from the screen and to Steve. “Not the sticky kind.” she continued, as if helpful.

He must’ve looked really confused, because before Steve even had to ask her a second time what the hell she meant, El then reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a cassette tape. “You got one too.” she elaborated.

“Ohh.” he breathed out as he sat up a bit, finally understanding. 

“Corey Hart.” El seemed to carefully sound out, tapping each word as they appeared on the cover. “Can’t listen?” she asked.

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion, feeling more lost in this conversation than ever. “What makes you say that?” he asked. Max had given her a player too, so he didn’t see why she couldn’t. He vaguely remembered El being a little confused over the gift when she first got it, not knowing what it was (which nearly broke Steve’s damn heart). But after Hop explained that it played music, El seemed to get it and then responded, ‘Oh, a record’ (which had nearly everyone in the room groaning because of course Hop only had vinyl…)

“Jonathan said so.” El explained, bringing Steve back to the present. Her tone sounded as if it were obvious but she was unsure as to why it was.

Realization then blissfully graced itself upon Steve once again. “Oh, that? No. He was just being an _a—ahhh_ jerk. Just being a jerk to me.” Steve quickly recovered. “He likes to make fun of the music I listen to. Like everybody else, even though it’s _my_ car and _I_ should get radio control...And anyway, they only think that because it’s popular it’s bad, which is wrong because it wouldn’t be popular if it was bad.”

“Oh.” El merely responded, not seeming like she understood but not knowing what to say otherwise.

Steve didn’t blame the kid. He’s been told that he can overexplain sometimes (or as his mother liked to call it, ‘talk nonsense’). 

“Anyway, I like what little I’ve heard of him. You should listen to him, if you want.” Steve continued. “Max gave you a good start to a tape collection there.” he indicated with a tap to the cassette with a knuckle.

Then, so suddenly that Steve nearly leapt out of his skin, El latched onto his wrist with a grip that shouldn’t have been that surprisingly strong to him, all things considered.

“Hurt?” she asked, and it took Steve a second to realize that she wasn’t still talking about the singer. El was staring intently at his bandages, brows furrowed again as though surprised she hadn’t noticed them earlier.

He didn’t blame her, Steve himself had nearly forgotten all about them. 

“Oh. No. Well, yeah.” he fumbled, his superb language skills no doubt being a real help to her own. “But it’s fine now.” he assured.

“Fine?” El repeated, her tone and still firm hold on his arm suggesting doubt.

“Yep. All good.” he answered truthfully.

“Promise?” she pried with an intensity that made him kinda unsettled.

“Promise.” Steve reaffirmed, deciding to just roll with it. “Max fixed me up real good.” he furthered.

“Max helped.” El summed up as her grip finally let up, but she sounded strangely pissed off about it as she looked away. Steve followed her gaze and wasn’t surprised when it landed on exactly who they were talking about. 

Before Max could notice either of her observers, El swiftly looked to Steve’s hand one more time before she fully released his wrist, her eyes finally settling back on the tape for good.

“It’s a good gift.” El eventually sighed, tone sounding just a bit defeated. Her eyes were still locked onto the cassette, brows just the slightest bit furrowed. Curiously, she sounded a little mad over her own words, as if not wanting to say them.

“I think so.” Steve answered, not really understanding the question (again) but deciding to continue on anyway. “I think the tape deck was a cool idea. She said it works as a radio too, right? You can get a lot out of it.”

“You like music?” El asked him, turning the tape over once or twice to get a good look at it.

He had never really given it much thought before, but Steve guessed so. He wasn’t really picky, anything that had a beat or nice melody was typically all it took for him, but more often than not he was filling the silence of his house with his mom’s records or his own tapes through the sound system, so he guessed he was a bit of a buff.

“I mean, I’m no Jonathan, but yeah, I guess I do.” he reasoned. “I think it makes the quiet less...loud.”

El looked back up to him again, another confused expression on her face. “Quiet can be loud?” she repeated, tone suggesting not doubt but...interest over such a notion.

“Well...it can feel like it is.” Steve eventually shrugged, not really even sure what he meant by it himself.

He figured that El was alone a lot during the day. Not in school, the Chief out at work...It must get lonely. He imagined that was why she liked TV so much. Not for the content but the company. Steve could get that.

El hummed. “Hop likes it too. I like to listen together.”

At that, a memory of the impromptu dance parties his mother used to drag him and his dad into flashed through his mind. She’d blast her ABBA records and say Steve could go outside once they master a proper _Dancing Queen_ routine. Or when dad would come home just in time for dinner but she wouldn’t let him through the dining room entrance until he slow danced with her. Dad would just roll his eyes in a playfully annoyed kind of way and then graciously indulge her and dance, right there in the doorway and Steve would watch in utter mortification, secretly wishing that one day he could have something like that. He quickly willed the memory away.

Times had changed.

“Yeah, well, between you and me,” Steve started in a faux whisper. “Hop’s taste is just a bit old fashioned. Like he is. There’s more out there than just...what’s he into? Allman Brothers? Cash?”

El merely shrugged, Steve realizing way too late that she probably had no idea what he was talking about. _Hm._

“I could lend you some more tapes if you want?” Steve found himself offering without really even thinking about it. “You can listen to them and see if you like them. Learn what kind of music you like that way?”

El was looking at him again, that little surprised expression back, but this time it looked maybe a little intrigued. Interested, again. People rarely looked at him like that these days, if it wasn’t in a _‘look how the mighty have fallen’_ kind of way.

“Okay.” El eventually said with a tiny smile and Steve decided that all the confusion and awkwardness of the conversation was then worth it.

By this point, El’s absence had finally been noticed and the rest of the gremlins joined them on the couch, forcing Steve into the middle of some awful preteen sandwich as the offered some colorful commentary on the movie.

“How? How is he the most famous reindeer of all if you can’t recall him?” Dustin reiterated for what felt like the tenth time.

“Who do you think you are? Trampling all over the good name of one of the most integral workers of Santa Claus?” Mike asked in an accusing tone and Steve really wished he could tell whether or not the kid was being genuine with the amount of severity in it.

“How? How is he so integral? They can’t even _recall_ him!”

“He’s got a point.” Lucas chimed in.

“He’s integral because he has heart! He’s so full of love that his nose _shines_ because of it.” Mike emphasized by slamming a fist down into his open palm.

“The other reindeer _were_ mean to him, and they weren’t enough by themselves to get the job done in the end.” Will helpfully pointed out.

“I’m not saying those things aren’t true.” Dustin started. “But the movie’s about him and so’s the song. Every other reindeer related movie, Rudolph isn’t important. Sometimes he’s not even mentioned! They forget him constantly, so how is he the most famous?”

“He’s underrated, that’s why he’s so important.” Mike reasoned. “What’re you saying? You worship _Blitzen_ or something?”

“No, no. What I’m saying is, is that it’s all _propaganda—_”

Steve really wished he knew how he got here. It was the strangest grouping he had even been in. It was composed of one dumb 18 year old who was one semester away from working some minimum wage job for the rest of his life and six of the smartest, toughest kids he had ever met who were one semester away from honors and AP classes and bright futures Steve could only dream about for himself. 

But then again, they _were_ arguing about a fictional reindeer. But Steve was actually listening in too, so there’s also that.

_“How d’ya like that? Even amongst misfits you’re misfits!”_

_Well, maybe,_ Steve thought back at the TV that he was finally able to hear over Dustin and Mike’s dumb argument that was _still going_. 

But you know what? It wasn’t as bad as he thought it’d be, being a misfit. Especially if these little weirdos were the ones with a whole island to themselves that Steve could catch a glimpse of from time to time.

* * *

Gloriously, the phone rang about 20 minutes into Steve’s plight, right at the beginning of the next movie when the clay mailman started to explain the origins of Kris Kringle. Steve had half a mind to just let the new answering machine get it but there was only one person - or rather, two people or people associated with them - that Steve knew it could be and damn if he wasn’t weak-willed.

After all, he hadn’t heard from his parents in two days.

They’d be coming home soon. They’d always try to arrive back on Christmas Day whenever business trips ran through the holidays like this. But that could mean that in two days, he’d either wake up to them already home or they wouldn’t get in until like 11pm Hawkins’ time. 

If they couldn’t make it for Christmas at all, his mom would at least give him a call and explain how they had to extend their trip and how these things out of their control come up and _yada yada yada…_

So he knew what this call would be about without even having picked up the phone yet, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t at least try to get an apology or at least one measly ‘Merry Christmas’ out of them.

Turns out, he couldn’t as it wasn’t even his mom - or even less likely - his dad calling to break the news. 

It was a secretary, just calling to let him know that the meetings ran long and flights were delayed and to expect his parents home on the 26th instead. She said they still planned to call if they found the time but there’s no guarantee with these kinds of things, and they’re such busy bodies and _yada yada yada._

Steve thought it was all horseshit. Who worked on Christmas, anyway? He was like 80 percent sure that both of his parents would just be at some fancy hotel bar or restaurant, getting drunk and having big fancy dinners in the Swiss Alps or the Bahamas or Colorado or New York or wherever the hell they were.

Whether or not they’d be doing this sort of thing _together_ was another matter entirely. Steve almost wished that Dad _was_ with one of his secretaries and Mom had found one of his underlings who wasn’t completely terrified of the man to spend the day with. It sure beat the thought that they were both out there, somewhere in the world, celebrating together and having a good time without him.

This was a new...low. They had never fully missed Christmas before. Never hadn’t called him themselves to tell him something like that. Never just...ignored him like this.

It was sad that this had become his life with his parents. Steve blamed himself, partially. When he turn 16, they started taking longer and longer trips through the holidays, when he assured them that he could take care of himself. Really, he just wanted the house to himself so he could have his friends over. But the longer his parents stayed away and the less people Steve had as real friends, the more he realized how...sad it all was. His parents had practically become strangers.

_Ugh. How depressing._

He needed a snack, something full of calories. Or better yet, something with booze. And Steve knew just the thing.

* * *

Steve stalked into the kitchen only to see Joyce and Hopper having a conversation at the table, each having a mug of the ‘special’ eggnog that he was after. With only maybe a little hesitation, he grabbed his own, Hop’s Christmas gift to Steve apprently being the fact that he overlooked it entirely. Steve gave him a grateful nod and Joyce a sheepish smile as she gave them both a knowing, mildly disapproving look.

Somehow, Steve found himself sitting at the top of the stairs in the hall. Hop and Joyce were in the kitchen, obviously, and the kids were in the living room, and he’s pretty sure he heard Nancy and Jonathan talking in the sitting room, so the stairs seemed like his best bet for solitude. He didn’t wanna wander too far from everyone though and he wasn’t drunk enough yet to think that going outside in this cold was a good idea.

Although maybe if he drank enough nog and then went outside he’d get taken out by some reindeer, like that old lady in the song? That’d certainly be a fix to a lot of his current problems.

Though maybe he also didn’t end up going outside because he wanted to just...hear everybody still? He hasn’t had this many people in his house since...since his mom’s 40th birthday, like 3 years ago.

Steve really wished that he knew what his dumb brain wanted. He didn’t know where his mind went half the time. It was so indecisive that it was kind of garbage. One minute, he was too depressed by the thought of being alone on the holiday that he agreed to host a party, the next he was taking refuge in his own damn house. 

Elvis and some Hawaiians then started harmonizing about the different kinds of colored Christmas’ there could be and Steve had to resist the urge to throw himself down the stairs. 

Though at least the radio stations were as indecisive as his brain was. They couldn’t decide if what they were going for was happy or depressing, playing any song that had to do with the season, whether they were about being lonely or warm-hearted. Steve could relate.

“Santa-spotting?” a voice then asked, breaking Steve out of his thoughts. Max was standing at the bottom of the steps, looking up at him. “Didn’t your parents ever tell you he won’t come if you wait up?” she drawled with a raise of her brow as she leant on the railing.

Steve just scoffed into his drink before taking another sip. He stopped believing in Santa when he was like eight, when he overheard his dad nagging to his mom about charging Steve’s new sled on the wrong credit card.

“Need the bathroom?” Steve asked instead, making to get up when Max started up the steps. 

“Nah.” she answered and to his surprise, ended up taking a seat a couple of steps below him. “I draw the line at having to listen to elves sing about making toys. Watching them do it is torture enough.”

Steve gave a laugh. “Not much into Christmas flicks?”

“Some are fine.” Max shrugged before she started to unwrap a napkin she had apparently concealed a couple of cookies in. “Like the one where Santa gets sick and Mrs. Claus fills in for him? Or Charlie Brown.” she listed off as she then offered him one of the cookies - one of Mrs. Sinclair’s, if he remembered correctly - and Steve happily obliged with a thanks.

“I love that sad bastard.” Steve agreed before he devoured the bite-sized cookie and quickly washed it down with another swig of his drink, having to wipe his nog mustache after. Max was watching him with her own form of interest as she took her time with her own snack.

“I wouldn’t wander outside after that drink if I were you.” she started with a nod to said beverage. “Might risk death by reindeer.”

Steve actually snorted at that, surprising himself with how much that made him laugh. He guessed it was because he’d thought the same thing earlier.

“This is my first cup. How strong do you think this is?” he scoffed. “Honestly, it’s only making me _kinda_ nauseous because I ate like a pig earlier. But who can ever note the worth of the sacrifices we make in the name of tradition?”

“Gross.” Max said flatly, though the smile tugging on her lips suggested she found it at least a little funny. She was then quiet for a few more moments as she proceeded to shove the rest of the cookie into her mouth. When she had finished chewing, she began in that deceptively even tone of her’s, “Can I ask you something? You can tell me to piss off if you want.”

“Shoot.” Steve shrugged, drawing his drink away from his mouth, judging by her tone that she had something quite important that she wanted to say.

After a few more silent moments, looking between the door to the den and to the floor below the steps, Max finally asked, “What did you and El talk about?”

Steve didn’t see the harm in answering. “She just wanted to know if the artist on one of her tapes was any good. Asked me because she remembered Jonathan giving me shit about listening to him earlier.”

“Oh.” Max said, brows drawing apart in what Steve guessed to be some sort of expression of relief. 

_Ahhh,_ Steve finally realized, his brain for once tuning in ahead of the game.

“I thought it was a good gift.” Steve continued, having a pretty good idea of what Max actually wanted to know. “She seemed interested in the idea of me lending her some more tapes to try out. I think she’ll get you your money’s worth out of that thing.”

“I’m not really worried about that. I got a good deal.” Max informed, as if it weren’t that big of a deal if not. “Didn’t really know if she even liked music though, but Mike told me she didn’t have a player or anything or even tapes, so I thought it might work.”

Of course the little bastards conspired together, leaving Steve to fend on his own in his gift hunt. Dustin practically chewed his ear off when he even mentioned wanting a little help with an idea that’d go over well with his assigned partner. Though he guessed it wasn’t really that hard of a buy in the end. Like he’d told Max earlier that night, he knew that her old board was broken. It’s been in his trunk for weeks. The hardest part was figuring out what kind to get her as a replacement. Getting the same one as before felt like a cop out. Like Jonathan’s gift, Steve needed to put a little originality into his own. He had no idea that there were so many different kinds of boards though and quickly felt out of his depth.

“Gift giving’s stressful. You did a good job of it, though.” Steve eventually finished in a decisive tone.

“So did you.” Max said looking back up to him. “But...it’s too expensive. You shouldn’t have dropped that kind of money on it.”

“Why, was I scammed?” he asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t told her what he paid for it but honestly as he’s stated, he had no idea what he was doing when buying it, he might as well could’ve been.

“No, no. It’s really good. Better than my old one.” Max continued. “It’s just, well, maybe it was too nice of a gift just for a Secret Santa for, for some kid you hardly know.” she finished, seeming a bit shocked and a little disturbed that she had admitted all of that.

“It was nothing.” Steve shrugged off, and he meant it. He wouldn’t deny that the same thought hadn’t already crossed his mind, but so what? He felt like going through a near apocalypse together qualified as knowing somebody well enough to get them something nice for the holiday. “My allowance more than covered it.” he assured her before he realized how much of a rich dick that made him sound like.

“Huh.” Max said looking away, as if in thought. She sounded genuinely impressed, not really judgemental or dismissive like Tommy or Carol could’ve gotten in the past. They were kinda right though. It wasn’t like it was _his_ money he spent on any of their gifts. But the way Steve saw it, he had to put good use to his parents _‘sorry we’re not there’_ reimbursal payments somehow...

“It’s not—” Steve started before he stopped himself, carefully rethinking what he wanted to say so he wouldn’t sound too loser-ish. He tried again, “If it’s not the kind you wanted or the color’s too girly—”

“Girly isn’t bad.” Max promptly cut him off. “Guys just say that it is to be dicks and make girls feel bad about liking the stuff that they do.”

Steve snorted into his drink, feeling very much like he’d been properly scolded and taught a valuable lesson. “Noted.” he murmured around the cup’s rim, the two of them then letting the sound of the funky, chiming beat on the radio fill the silence.

That’s always how these kids made him feel, Steve thought. Dumb, but like, in a good way. Like he had some kind of hope for a bright future because of it, as cheesy as it sounded. They were all wise beyond their years. Certainly beyond Steve’s.

Steve himself wasn’t dumb enough to think that all the horrible shit that they went through didn’t play a part in their apparent maturity and suprisingly complex worldviews. How could it not when you constantly lived in the face of impending doom? 

_“There's a world outside your window_  
_And it's a world of dreaded fear…”_

And he figured that was what it was. Impending. He wasn’t quite naïve enough to still think that they were completely in the clear this time around, not like last year. He’d learned his lesson with Nancy.

_“Where the only water flowing_  
_Is a bitter sting of tears”_

But he supposed that there was a time and place for gloom and now and here wasn’t it, as he had to keep reminding himself. Whatever that Upside Down shit was or the government or whatever else might come after them next was still out there. But for now, tonight at least, all that shit could wait.

_“And the Christmas bells that ring there_  
_Are the clanging chimes of doom_  
_We'll, tonight, thank God, it's them_  
_Instead of you”_

“Thank you, by the way.” Max started again, drawing Steve away from his thoughts and the song again. “I don’t think that I actually said it yet. So thanks.” she finished, sounding the slightest bit awkward, to Steve’s utter shock.

“No sweat, Red.” Steve assured her once he got over it. “And thanks for _your_ help getting shit ready today. And the, uh, first-aid.” he coughed, admittedly still a little embarrassed over the whole thing. “You’re not half bad, Mayfield.” he jabbed as he gave her a nudge with his foot.

Max gave him a smirk and answered back quite assuredly as she shoulder-checked him in the leg, “Right back at ya, Harrington.”

Then, thinking it was high time that he’d be the first one to say it and feel like he genuinely meant it, Steve added in a tone that was admittedly a little hesitant, “Merry Christmas, Red.”

Max looked back to him again. Looking like she found this all a little too cheesy for her tastes, but sounding no less genuine, she answered back, “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

It might not be how Steve imagined himself spending his holidays, in a house full of people he should by no means be as close to as he felt like he was, handing out pep-talks to the nerd version of wayward youths…

But it was something. Something nice that made him feel warm in a way that he hadn’t in a long time. 

Growing up, there was a Steve Harrington that he’d always thought he would be, that his parents though he should be. But after all these years, Steve still wasn’t that ideal version of himself. Top jock, honor roll, valedictorian material, future business mogul...And for a long time, that hadn’t sat right with him. Certainly doesn’t sit right with his dad now.

But if Steve could make these kids who went through such shitty, life-threatening...shit, on a yearly basis look at him like _that._ Look at him like he was something of note, like he had made some kind of a difference for them, even if it wasn’t all that impressive, in the grand scheme of things...

Well, he thought that at least for now, being _this_ Steve maybe wasn’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Morkoth (misheard by Steve as Mork-moth) is a reference to AO3 user Shypt’s amazing fic [_Emotion Sickness_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948408).
> 
> **Dustin and Mike’s argument is inspired by Gaten Matarazzo and Finn Wolfhard’s twitter argument of the same subject.
> 
> —
> 
> Unlike my last fic in this series, I was really into mentioning songs that you’d be able to hear at the time of the fic’s occurrence (December 1984). Here are all the songs used/mentioned/alluded to in this fic!
> 
> Just the Christmas songs:  
“Last Christmas” by Wham! (1984)  
“I’ll Be Home For Christmas” by Bing Crosby (1944)  
“A Holly Jolly Christmas” by Burl Ives (1965)  
“Christmas Wrapping” by The Waitresses (1981)  
“This Christmas” by Donny Hathaway (1970)  
“Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” by Judy Garland (1944)  
“Happy Xmas (War Is Over)” by John Lennon and the Harlem Community Choir (1971)  
“Grandma Got Runover By A Reindeer” by Elmo & Patsy (1979)  
“Blue Christmas” by Elvis Presely (1964)  
“Do They Know It’s Christmas?” by Band Aid (1984)
> 
> Non-Christmas songs:  
“Mamma Mia” by ABBA (1975)  
“Hey, Hey Helen” by ABBA (1975)  
“Dancing Queen” by ABBA (1976)
> 
> Anyone who can guess all the Christmas movies that were mentioned gets one of Mrs. Sinclair’s cookies! Hint: there are 4.
> 
> Please comment and-or kudo if you enjoyed! Thank you for reading and Happy Holidays. :)


End file.
